Caffrey Disclosure
by penna.nomen
Summary: Although Neal gave a confession for immunity and joined the FBI as a consultant in late 2003, he still has secrets. To catch a predatory businessman and to evade a would-be killer, Neal must disclose some of his secrets and trust Peter more than ever. Caffrey Conversation AU set in 2004, where Neal was never arrested. Friendship, Family, Fathers' Day, Angst
1. Chapter 1 - A Good Thing

_A/N: Although this story is part of a series, it can stand on its own. The first chapters will catch you up with Neal and his circumstances, and then the action starts. Within the series, this story follows Caffrey Flashback and Complications, and comes before The Golden Hen. In Flashback, Neal dealt with repressed memories of childhood abuse and depended on Peter and members of the Caffrey family to come to his rescue. In this story, Neal is stronger. He's ready to come to the rescue of others and to be the hero rather than the victim. He's also moving toward more of an adult son to father relationship with Peter. Progressing there from his child-like hero worship may involve some moments of teenage rebellion, but in the end their relationship will be stronger and more sustainable. _

_In prior stories I've lifted character names from Jane Austen novels. This time, I'll also be pulling from Casablanca. At the end of chapter 1, I'll maintain a character list. You can always refer back to the chapter 1 end notes to refresh your memory about who's who._

_White Collar and its characters are not mine, alas. _

**Brooklyn, Burke residence. Tuesday evening. June 15, 2004. **

For once everyone in the White Collar team – even Peter – had left work early in order to attend a party at the Burkes' home. The weather had cooperated, allowing them to leave the front and back doors wide open to a sunny, mild evening. There was just enough breeze to keep the bugs away as Peter manned the grill on the back porch. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, handing out beers and pouring sangria and laughing with Peter's second-in-command, Agent Tricia Wiese. More agents and their significant others had settled on chairs or on the front stoop to chat.

When he first joined the team, Neal Caffrey felt like the odd man out. Peter had warned him it wouldn't be easy, and there had certainly been ups and downs, but six months into working for the Bureau Neal had to admit that Peter's instincts had been right: Neal did have a talent for this work, and he did enjoy it.

Satchmo, the Burkes' yellow Labrador, wandered from guest to guest, making friends. But he always seemed to gravitate back to Neal, as if the animal sensed Neal was part of the family. Back in December, when Neal decided to help Peter capture a violent criminal and Peter in turn decided to recruit Neal, a feverish Neal had jokingly called the agent "Dad." He truly did think of Peter as a father figure now, and Peter acknowledged the sentiment by calling Neal "Son" on occasion.

On a day like today it was easy to focus on the positive aspects of his life. For the next few hours, he didn't have to worry about how June was adjusting to life following Byron's death. He didn't have to think about how the man who wanted him dead was evading capture. He didn't have to think about Henry, a loose cannon who was likely getting in trouble that would involve Neal eventually. He didn't have to figure out how on earth he was going to –

Peter's voice broke into his thoughts. "Neal, I'm running out of supplies here." Peter gestured toward the empty platter beside him. All of the burgers, drumsticks and brats were either on the grill or on guests' plates.

"I got it." Neal swung in to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator for the next platter. With the speed and dexterity of a cat burglar, he had the new platter at Peter's side in moments without bumping in to anyone. Then he handed two hot-off-the grill burgers to agents and directed them to the condiments. "How's it going out here?" he asked Peter.

Their host paused in moving the meat to the grill. "Why? Is anything wrong? We didn't run out of beer, did we? I wasn't sure if the team would go for that other stuff."

Elizabeth had been wise to put Peter in charge of the grill, where he'd be busy and forced to interact with guests. Otherwise he'd obsess about his team invading his home. Obviously the party had been Elizabeth's idea, and Peter was going along with it. This evening's gathering was a trial run for the newly formed Burke Premiere Events. Several of the appetizers were from caterers under consideration for upcoming events. "Everything's fine," Neal said, "but I think you have a remodeling project in your future. Elizabeth and Tricia are talking about updating the kitchen. Last I heard, they thought the wall between the kitchen and dining room should come down."

Peter finished putting hamburger patties on the grill and studied the wall. "I could see that. Fortunately we have construction experts and architects in the Burke family." Then he glanced around at the guests. "El has been talking about throwing this party since New Year's. She said she wanted to meet the team. Are they behaving themselves?"

Before Neal could reassure Peter, Hughes stepped to the doorway and said, "Everyone, if I could have your attention for a moment." People shushed one another and conversations died down. "It was exactly six months ago today that Peter took the lead of the White Collar Division. We've had some big wins, and faced some challenges along the way. Our closure rate has risen to 90%, which is one of the highest in the country. I want to take this moment to acknowledge the work this team has done, and the leadership Agent Peter Burke has provided." He raised his glass of sangria. "To Peter!"

The other guests raised their glasses and bottles. "To Peter!" they echoed.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Double fisting it?"

Neal looked up from gathering empty beer bottles to take to the recycle bin. "Mrs. Hughes. I didn't get to meet you earlier. I'm Neal Caffrey." He shrugged, his hands too full to shake hands.

"Yes, Reese has mentioned you. I'm Ilsa." She was slim, like her husband, with blond hair. "Let me help you with those." She grabbed more bottles. "I assume you know where you're going?"

"Yes, ma'am." Neal led the way outside. "Is it true that you're part of the team that prosecuted Martha Stewart?"

"That's right. And if I hear one more 'It's a good thing' joke I can't be held responsible for what I do." She dropped the bottles in the bin. "She should be sentenced next month, and then I'm hoping for a nice, low profile case."

Neal placed his bottles in the bin, and then straightened to ask, "Do your cases often overlap with your husband's?"

"Frequently enough that we try not to talk shop at home. I've considered doing some consulting with the FBI, actually. I thought it might be a way to step down from the hours I have now in the Federal Prosecutor's Office, without retiring altogether. How do you like it?"

"Consulting?" Neal leaned back against the fence, hands in his pockets. "It's been great. It's changed my life in more ways than I can count. And now I can't imagine not working in White Collar."

"So it really is…" she trailed off and smirked.

Neal chuckled. "Yeah, it's a good thing."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Heading back inside, Neal caught Reese Hughes' eyes and stepped in his direction. Ever since the man had arrived, Neal had the feeling Hughes had something to tell him. Neal wanted to know what it was. There was a chance that it was good news, that maybe there was a way –

"Neal? Mrs. Burke said you could point me in the right direction."

Neal turned to see Travis Miller. He was an electronics expert, someone who specialized in the tools used in surveillance. Since Neal did his best to avoid assignments in the van, they hadn't spent much time together. The guy seemed nice enough, in a geeky kind of way that Mozzie would likely appreciate. He was a few years older than Neal, tall with dark hair. "Yeah? What are you looking for?"

"Well, I asked why there wasn't any music," Travis said with a slight Texas drawl. "This party's too quiet, you know?"

Neal agreed. Like all of the Caffreys he'd met since reconnecting with his mother's family, he loved music and missed its presence tonight. He almost wished he'd brought his guitar. "How can I help?"

"A co-conspirator. Excellent. She said the speakers won't accept input from the stereo while the TV is on." Travis gestured toward the TV that was muted but showing a baseball game.

Neal raised a brow. "That's what Elizabeth said?"

"That was the gist of it. I'm sure I can get us some tunes while leaving the TV on for the baseball fanatics, if you can point me to the audio equipment." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Let me at it."

Soon Travis was on his hands and knees, inspecting the Burkes' electronics and impersonating the Wicked Witch of the West. "Come here, my pretty."

Neal shook his head. "Now you're scaring me."

Travis looked up, bumping noses with a curious Satchmo. "Watch out, or I'll get you and your little dog, too."

"C'mon, Satch." Neal reached down to distract the dog by scratching his ears. "We aren't appreciated here. Let the madman work his magic in peace." He turned around, once more intending to get a moment with Hughes, when he saw the front door open. To his surprise, in walked Agent Clinton Jones. That settled it. Hughes could wait.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter smiled when he saw Jones arrive. Then he saw Neal make a beeline for the agent and frowned. Since no one had asked for anything in the last several minutes, Peter made an executive decision to abandon the grill. He got to Jones seconds after Neal. "Thanks for dropping by. We weren't sure if you'd be able to make it. How was the flight?" Peter asked, interrupting whatever Neal was about to say.

Jones looked grateful for the interruption. "We landed at LaGuardia," he said.

"Sorry about that," said Peter, aware that JFK was considered vastly superior as an airport. "The Bureau always pushes us to the cheapest flights. Everyone's going to be glad to see you again. I'm sure you're eager to get home, after living out of a suitcase all this time." Other than Neal, Jones was the youngest member of Peter's team but he showed great promise. That's why he'd been assigned to partner with Winston-Winslow on an investigation into one of their former employees in Baltimore. Robert Winslow had aided and abetted blackmailers, bribed an FBI agent, and attempted to arrange a murder. He'd tried to have Neal killed. Twice.

As a result, Neal was excluded from this case. As an intended victim and the best friend of Robert's son, Neal was too close to be objective. But that wouldn't stop him from pelting Jones with questions about the case, even though Jones was supposed to report his findings only to Peter and Hughes. They would decide what could be shared with others. "You need a drink?" Peter asked Jones. "There's beer in the kitchen."

"I could go for a beer." Jones took a step toward the kitchen, but Peter stopped him.

"Neal, grab a beer for Jones," Peter said, pushing Jones toward the sofa. "Let him get a chance to relax." As he expected, by the time Neal returned, Jones was surrounded by agents welcoming him back. Neal managed to maneuver through the crowd to deliver Jones' drink, but there would be no chance to have a private chat, especially when music started blaring.

"Sorry," said Travis when Peter sent a startled glance in his direction. He turned the music down slightly, then joined the throng around Jones.

Neal looked up at Peter and rolled his eyes. Peter gestured to follow him, and led the way to the back porch, which was currently deserted and quieter than the house. "Listen," Peter said, "I get it. In your shoes, I'd want to find out what Jones knows, too. But you're putting him in a tough position. He can't talk to you about the case. I promise, if we get any indication that Robert is in town or planning another attempt on your life, you'll be the first to know."

"You think it's Robert I want to ask him about?" Neal sounded surprised.

Peter caught on immediately. Robert's son – Neal's cousin and best friend – had been distraught back in March when they'd learned that Robert was the person behind the attempts on Neal's life. Things only got worse when Robert tried to kill Henry, too. An employee of the investigation and security firm Winston-Winslow that his great-grandfather had founded, Henry was prohibited from joining the hunt for Robert, but had taken a leave of absence and Peter suspected he was searching on his own. "When's the last time you heard from Henry?"

Neal started pacing. "It's been over a month since we've spoken. About once a week I get a postcard. He won't even text, in case anyone's trying to track him. I thought he'd be the first I'd tell about Columbia, after you and Elizabeth. And then there was Memorial Day." He stopped and ran his hands through his hair. "I went to Byron's grave with June and her daughters, and after being stoic all this time, June really lost it. She was sobbing all the way home. Normally he'd tell me how to handle it, if I could just talk to him."

Peter patted the kid's back. "You can always talk to me about that stuff, you know."

"It isn't really your area. Henry…" Neal shrugged.

Peter nodded. Henry had a master's degree in psychology which certainly helped when discussing the emotional pitfalls of life, and he had so much in common with Neal the kid sometimes referred to his older cousin as an "alternate me" – someone Neal might have been if his father hadn't gone to prison. Henry thought of himself as Neal's big brother and had a protective streak. But Peter's gut told him Henry was struggling to cope right now, and wasn't able to provide the support he had in the past. "Well, if not me, then El," Peter said. "We're here for you, you know."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned to the living room, Hughes and his wife had already left. So much for finding out if the man had news for him. He'd have to track him down at the office. Once the joy of being accepted into the graduate program at Columbia no longer consumed Neal, the challenges started to present themselves. One of those challenges was how to pay his tuition. Peter had mentioned that the FBI sometimes paid for a degree that was relevant to an agent's role. A dual masters in visual arts and art history was certainly relevant to Neal's job in White Collar, but he wasn't an agent. Last week Hughes had promised to check on whether Neal could qualify for that particular benefit.

Neal had also looked into standard student loans, but they came with challenges of their own. He only had a few months of legal work history on his own credit record. Most students without work history had parents who acted as guarantors for the loan. It was one thing to think of Peter as a father. It was another to ask for that kind of commitment. And the Burkes were talking about taking out a loan to start Elizabeth's new business. They couldn't take on responsibility for another loan at the same time, even if Neal had every intention of making the payments himself.

Then there were the Caffreys. Either his aunt Noelle or his grandparents could afford to co-sign a loan, but he couldn't ask that of people he'd just met. The last thing he wanted was for them to think his main interest in them was their money.

To think only a few years ago he'd taken out nearly a dozen student loans for schools he'd never attended, as part of a fraud he'd dreamt up. But that money was long gone now, mostly used to fund even bigger frauds and schemes. The problem was, getting those loans had required lying. As an employee of the FBI, he couldn't get away with lying on financial documents anymore, and he had learned enough to realize that telling the truth wouldn't get him what he needed.

"You're awfully quiet."

Neal looked up to see Elizabeth Burke. She held a glass of sangria out to him. He took it and drank as he considered his response. Finally he said, "I'm enjoying the music. I didn't realize your tastes were so eclectic."

She grinned. "Believe it or not, in high school all I listened to was Top 40. Then at UMass, my first roommate worked at the college radio station. She had me listening to new and local artists, and music styles I'd never heard of. Seeking out the new and different became a hobby. And speaking of college, we could have used this party to celebrate your acceptance into Columbia, along with Peter's anniversary as the team lead. But he said you didn't want to tell anyone yet?"

Neal shrugged. "Tonight should be about Peter. And I'm not ready to tell the team." Wanting to change the subject, he added, "I know tonight was the exact six-month anniversary, but I'm surprised you didn't wait until the weekend. Wouldn't that have been easier?"

"Saturday wouldn't work for Reese, and I really wanted him to be here."

"What about Sunday?"

"No, we couldn't hold it on Father's Day." El watched him like a hawk.

Neal cleared his throat. He hadn't realized that was this weekend. He couldn't remember ever celebrating Father's Day, and he rarely paid attention to it. But now, with Peter… He drank the rest of his sangria. "Do you think Peter would like to do something?"

"I think he would love to spend time with you on Father's Day." She placed a hand on his arm. "It doesn't have to be a big deal. I took the liberty of getting three tickets for the Yankees game that afternoon, and maybe we could go out for dinner after. Something casual. I haven't said anything to him about it, so there's no pressure if you have other plans or don't want to join us."

It took Neal a moment to wrap his head around the idea of actually spending Father's Day with someone he thought of as his dad. He'd never expected to have this. It was thrilling and frightening. "Yeah, sure. Tell me what time to be here."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones was the next to leave the party, tired from his travels and eager to unpack. The rest of team followed shortly, aware they needed to be at work the next day in time for the morning briefing. Neal stayed the longest, offering to help to clean up, but El shooed him out saying he was a guest. There wasn't a lot of cleanup, and soon Peter settled on the sofa beside his wife. She gave him a few minutes to unwind, and then said, "Well?"

"Hmm?" Peter stopped staring at the floor and looked up. "Oh. Yeah, it went all right, didn't it? Everyone showed up, we didn't run out of food, and they had a good time."

El laid her head on his shoulder. "Told you so."

"Mm-hmm."

"We should do this again."

"Mm-hmm."

"How about next month?"

"Mm-hmm." Peter's mind caught up and he paused. "What?"

El sat up straight to face him. "Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Is something wrong? You've seemed preoccupied ever since Jones arrived."

"I'm concerned about Neal. When it comes to him, it's like I have this radar, you know? It starts pinging when he's getting in trouble."

"Is it pinging now?"

"No, not yet. But something feels off, and I keep expecting to hear the pings any minute. I think there's something he isn't telling me, something I should know about or it's gonna bite me."

El gave him a mysterious smile. "If that feeling started this evening, I think I know why. And you have nothing to worry about."

"Is it something to do with getting into Columbia? Because I've been wondering why he doesn't want to tell the team about it."

Her smile faded. "No. Sorry, hon. That puzzles me, too."

Peter ran through the events of the evening in his mind, trying to put his finger on what had caused this sense of unease. "But it isn't work-related," he said. "Not if you know about it and I don't. Is it-"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Peter," she interrupted. "You're going to hound him about this tomorrow, aren't you? Can't you let him have a secret?"

"The thing is, Neal's secrets tend to be explosive. They can be distractions for him, for me, potential landmines impacting our cases."

"Can't you turn off the FBI agent, just for a few days, if I tell you there's nothing to worry about?"

"A few days? What's happening in a few days?" That sent Peter's mind down new paths, but he caught El's expression and he stopped. "Turning off the FBI agent takes time. Anyway, what would I be instead?"

"A dad, Peter." She studied him and then shook her head. "I think FBI agents aren't able to appreciate surprises. Fine. Sunday is Father's Day, and Neal and I are conspiring to celebrate. I thought we could keep it from you, but I'm afraid you'll start to interrogate him tomorrow if I didn't confess. Can we at least leave the details a secret?"

Peter nodded, finding he didn't trust his voice. He hadn't expected this, and was moved that Neal wanted to spend Father's Day with him. A wave of warmth carried him through the rest of the evening, distracting him from his earlier concerns.

In fact, his radar shut down entirely for the next week. And that might not have been a good thing.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! I was delayed getting started on this story due to my job hunt, but I'm happy to say I've settled into a new job with no overtime – more time for writing! _

_Thanks to my beta and co-writer in this AU: Silbrith. She describes Neal's acceptance into Columbia in a fun story called Complications which introduced the concept of Peter's radar. Silbrith is currently posting the story Woman in Blue, which is set in this same AU. She also instigated our use of Pinterest. If you search for a board named Caffrey Disclosure, you'll find pictures of this story's cast, and some pins for chapter 1. I plan to add pins for each chapter around the same time I post here. If you search for my boards (under the pinner name Penna Nomen) or for Silbrith's (under the pinner name of Caffrey Conversation) you'll find boards for several of our current and past stories, with more to come._

_I plan to post Sunday nights. The next chapter up will be called Father's Day. It will have a scene for fans of Caffrey Envoy who have been asking for another glimpse of very, very young Neal._

**Cast list:**

Burke Family: Peter Burke, his wife Elizabeth, their dog Satchmo, and Peter's older brother Joe.

Caffrey-Winslow Family: Neal Caffrey, his grandparents Irene (Dressa) and Edmund (Dor), Neal's mother Meredith, Meredith's twin sister Noelle, Meredith and Noelle's older brother David (deceased), David's daughter Angela, Angela's mother Paige, Noelle's son Henry Winslow, Noelle's ex-husband Robert Winslow, Robert's father Graham Winslow

White Collar team: Tricia Wiese, Clinton Jones, Travis Miller, Diana Berrigan, Reese Hughes and his wife Ilsa

Other canon characters: June Ellington (her deceased husband Byron and their granddaughter Cindy are mentioned, and I'm calling Cindy's father Paul), Mozzie, Sara Ellis, Ellen Parker

Other non-canon characters:

U.S. Marshals Annina Brandel and Mike Chan

Stan Masterson: music producer and unethical businessman

Miranda Garza (song writer), her daughter Yvette, Miranda's brother Lawson Hunter, Lawson's daughter Shannon, Shannon's fiancé Jake

Randy Weston (music store owner) and his daughter Samantha (Sam)

Cassie Blanca: singer/songwriter

Former members of the band Local Devastation: Theo Guy now owns a recording studio, Michael Darling is now a professor of music and still writes songs, Ty Merchant has a solo career

Professor Victoria Laszlo

Urban Legend members: Shawn Legend, Neal Legend, Grace Legend

Aliases: Peter will use Peter Blaine. Mozzie will use Louie Renault. Neal & Meredith are also identified by code name Apocalypse. Henry & Noelle are also identified by code name Armageddon. Angela & David are also identified by code name Chaos. Robert is identified by code name Anomaly. Robert's accomplice is known as Ferrari.


	2. Chapter 2 - Father's Day

_A/N: Usually I put the characters through a lot and then give them a fluffy bit toward the end. With Father's Day falling at the start of this story's timeline, things get fluffy early. _

**White Collar Division. Wednesday morning. June 16, 2004.**

As soon as the morning briefing ended, Peter and Jones met with Hughes to discuss the latest developments in the Winslow case. What troubled Peter the most was Jones' suspicion that Robert Winslow had an accomplice. "I can't prove anything," Jones said. "But there's a lot of references in his files to someone he calls Ferrari, going back to the mid-1990s through 2001. Then in 2002 there's nothing, but it picks up again in late 2003."

"That corresponds to when he banished Neal and then got interested in him again," Peter said. "Any leads on Ferrari?"

"Not yet." Jones sounded frustrated. "Robert did a very thorough job of erasing all electronic references to him… or her. We wouldn't know the name at all if not for a set of hardcopy files Robert didn't throw out before he disappeared. At this point, we don't even know if Ferrari works for Win-Win. Fact is, Robert didn't have a lot of warning that we were onto him. He did a half-assed job of making it look like his son was behind the attempts on Neal's life, and an excellent job of eliminating anything about Ferrari. That tells me Ferrari is important."

"Find Ferrari, and maybe we finally find Robert," Peter said.

"No leads on Robert Winslow's location, after all this time?" Hughes asked.

Jones shook his head. "He's spent almost 14 years working for a company that specializes in tracking people. He knows all the tricks for finding suspects, and he's avoided leaving any kind of trail. I gotta think he had an escape plan ready well in advance. He might have been working on it for years."

Hughes stood. "All right, gentlemen. I have a noon flight to catch. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I'll see you on Monday." He strode out to the elevators, and Peter walked back to his own office.

Jones followed him. "You know, Win-Win has amazing resources and they know Robert better than we do. If they haven't been able to find this guy by conventional means, I don't think we will either. It might be time to think outside the box." He glanced pointedly down at Neal's empty desk. The consultant was in the field with Agent Tricia Wiese, gathering intel for a new case.

Peter looked down to the bullpen and then closed the door to his office so they wouldn't be overheard. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like this."

"If we can't find Robert, maybe we bring him to us. We know what he wants."

"I'm not using Neal as bait," Peter said.

"How about we just spread the word that Neal's vulnerable. He doesn't have to be unprotected, we just have to let Robert think…" Jones trailed off, probably in reaction to Peter's expression. "Not the right time?"

Peter was known for going with his gut. Currently it was churning so badly he wanted an antacid. "We'll find another way."

Jones looked doubtful, but nodded respectfully and opened the door to head back to his desk.

"Hey, wait a minute," Peter said, grabbing a file folder from his desk. "Now that you're back, I have another assignment for you." As Jones reached for the file, Peter continued, "Our request for a probationary agent was approved."

"We get a probie?" Jones asked, sounding elated. "I'm not going to be the junior agent around here anymore?"

"That's right. In that file is a list of all the upcoming Quantico graduates interested in working in the Manhattan office. It's a popular assignment, and with our record lately we're going to get top pick. Look over their resumes and the notes from their instructors. Pick your top three, and we'll interview them."

Jones flashed a smile worthy of Neal and jogged back to his desk with the file folder.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Saturday rolled around and Neal still hadn't spoken with Hughes. The man had gone to DC Wednesday afternoon for mid-year planning sessions and wouldn't be back until Monday. Still no answer as to whether the FBI would pay Neal's tuition. Time was flying by, and if the FBI didn't come through for him, Neal would have to get creative or give up on graduate school.

His aunt Noelle Winslow was in town, having spent the week leading a seminar at Columbia. It was her alma mater, and Neal's grandparents had also attended the school. They were supposedly disappointed that neither of his cousins had chosen Columbia, and thrilled that he would be studying there. All the more pressure for Neal to find a way to pay the tuition at the pricey institution.

Neal met Noelle for brunch and they kept the conversation light, talking about her experiences as a psychology professor and her undergrad days in New York. It wasn't until the waiter was taking away their plates that Neal asked, "Any word from Henry?"

He immediately regretted asking. Noelle went from bubbly to sad in a heartbeat at the reminder of her wayward son. "Just a postcard."

"Same here," Neal told her. And looking for something to cheer her up he said, "I hear you've started dating Peter's older brother. Did you get to see him on this trip?"

She nodded. "We had dinner a couple of times, and tomorrow I'm meeting Joe's daughters. They're both home from college now."

Meeting the daughters, and spending Father's Day with them. This sounded serious. In Henry's absence, Neal might need to grill Peter about Joe and make sure this guy was would treat Noelle right. Both Noelle and her identical twin – Neal's mom – had made poor choices in husbands the first time around, and his mom hadn't done great with boyfriends, either. Someone had to make sure Noelle didn't make another mistake.

Noelle stood and asked, "Are you ready?" Neal followed her outside and they walked to her hotel. They still had weekly therapy sessions, usually over the phone since she lived in Baltimore. She'd said that starting in July they could meet twice a month, which Neal took to mean he was making headway.

Settling on the sofa in his aunt's hotel room, they covered a familiar theme: worthiness. While Neal knew he didn't deserve the abuse and other bad aspects of his childhood, he struggled to accept that he deserved and could keep the good things in his life now. His acceptance into Columbia's graduate school – bypassing a bachelor's degree – was a case in point. It was too good to be true, and he didn't trust things that fell in that category.

"You still haven't told your co-workers about your acceptance into Columbia?" Noelle asked. "Why is that?"

Money was the obvious reason, and not one he wanted to discuss with her for fear of sounding like he was asking for a handout. But there were other reasons. "What if I can't handle it, on top of everything else? I'd rather wait until I'm sure I can balance school and my job. If I have to drop out, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Neal, you're an extremely intelligent, creative and stubborn individual. If you want to make it work, you will. What else has you reluctant to share your good news?"

There was the fact that he wanted Henry to be among the first to know. But that was another topic he didn't want to bring up with his aunt. "It's not just the pressure from the team. I'd rather not make a big deal out of this until I'm sure I won't let Peter down. He invested a lot of time in helping me prepare for the entrance exams. If I wash out, he'll be disappointed."

Noelle raised a brow. "Disappointed in you, or disappointed for you?"

Neal looked away. "I don't know. Both, I guess."

"You don't have to be perfect to be loved, Neal. We'd all be very lonely if that were the case."

Neal stretched and caught a surreptitious look at his watch. It had almost been an hour. She'd probably let him get away with changing the subject, and there was something he very much wanted to discuss. "Well, there's one thing I want to get perfect for Peter. Tomorrow's Father's Day. Elizabeth arranged for us to go to a Yankees game, but I feel like I should do more. Only… I don't really know how to do Father's Day."

"Oh, sweetheart," Noelle said, blinking back tears.

When Neal left a little while later, he was glad for her advice. But he was also sad, because today had shown what they'd both known to be true: the more they connected as aunt and nephew, the less effective she would be as his therapist. There were too many subjects he'd avoided today in order spare her. Soon he would have to ask her to recommend someone else.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sunday afternoon promptly at 1:00, Neal knocked on the door of the Burkes' home, carrying two shopping bags. Elizabeth let him in. "What do we have here?" she asked.

"Dinner," Neal said. "I thought about making reservations someplace, but it's hard to predict when the game will end, especially if there are extra innings. Anyway, I'd like to make something for you. My mom was a chef, you know. I picked up a few things." He shut up, feeling like he was rambling. Next thing he knew, he'd be talking about her decline from upscale caterer in DC to sous chef and then finally short-order cook in St. Louis as her drinking took a toll on her reliability as an employee. He'd gradually taken over meals at home because she became too apathetic to deal with it, and sometimes when he was in his teens their only conversation for days would be her off-hand instructions when she noticed what he was cooking. He'd tried a wide range of dishes, hoping to engage her interest. "Some of this should go in the fridge," he said, shaking off the memories.

He followed El into the kitchen, and heard Peter jogging down the stairs. "There you are," he said, stepping through the kitchen door. "I thought I heard you." Peter wore jeans and a black short sleeve shirt. For once Neal wasn't wearing black, going for jeans and a blue shirt. El wore a Yankees shirt.

"Here." Neal pulled a gift-wrapped box out of one of the bags. "Happy Father's Day." He watched as Peter unwrapped it, although he pretended to be absorbed in taking the rest of the groceries out. When Peter pulled a silk tie out of the box, Neal added, "I'm told it's traditional to give an ugly tie, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. This one should dress up your favorite suit until you're ready to replace it with something from this decade."

Peter chuckled. "I remember when we were sharing that hotel room in St. Louis, you did a sleight of hand with one of my ties. Made it look like you'd pulled it out of the room safe. You made a smartass remark then about me needing a tie from the current century."

Neal smirked. "I've still got your anniversary and Christmas coming up. By the end of the year we'll have you looking almost dapper." He caught Elizabeth trying not to laugh. "Are you with me on this? If we team up, I think we could give him a complete makeover."

El reached up to kiss Peter's cheek. "He got rid of the mustache for me last year. That's all the makeover I need."

"Wait, Peter had a mustache? Tell me there are pictures," Neal said.

"No," Peter insisted. "I had them all destroyed."

The lighthearted banter continued throughout the afternoon. The fact that the Yankees played a great game buoyed their mood. Neal was never going to be the die-hard baseball fan that Peter was, but he certainly enjoyed the weather and the camaraderie. He heard about Peter's fledgling baseball career, and the injury that sent him to the FBI instead. "I'd always had the Bureau in the back of my mind for when I started slowing down as a pitcher," Peter had explained during the seventh-inning stretch. "But I thought I'd be playing ball another ten years. I'll admit I was devastated at first, but sometimes the curveballs that you curse in life turn out to be blessings in disguise. If I'd stuck with my original plan, I probably wouldn't have met either of you." He stopped then as the game resumed, but Neal felt honored to be considered a blessing in Peter's life.

Back at the house, Neal put together a lasagna that he knew would satisfy the tastes of both Burkes. He'd placed it in the oven and was about to suggest perusing Elizabeth's music collection when she announced that they were going to watch a video.

Neal assumed it was a favorite movie of Peter's, and thus was surprised when he took the plastic case from his wife and asked, "What's this?"

She grinned. "Oh, a little bird called me last night and recommended this. I rented it from the place down the street. She also emailed a note for you." She handed over a sheet of paper.

Peter read it out loud. "_Dear Peter, I'm so happy that Neal is spending Father's Day with you. Of course he was too young when he left us to remember any of the Caffrey Father's Day traditions. My favorite was when our parents reminisced about our most memorable childhood moments. It was embarrassing at the time, but now I look back fondly on those conversations. The DVD will give him a taste of that experience. You don't have to watch the movie. Simply go to tracks three and four in the extras. All my best, Noelle._" Peter looked inquisitively at Neal. "You have a connection to this movie?"

Neal took the movie, puzzled. It was an early 1980s remake of a 1940s film, recently released on DVD. He'd never seen either version, although he seemed to recall his mother had the original in her collection. Now that he thought about it, it seemed odd that she owned it but never watched it, at least not when he was around. "My grandmother was in the original. She played a nanny for the squabbling offspring of a widow and widower who convinced the kids to get along after their parents got married." When he'd learned his grandmother was a former actress he'd looked up her movies, but hadn't watched all of them yet.

"Let's see what this is about." Peter opened the case and turned on the TV.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Track three was an interview with a very sophisticated Irene Caffrey in her home in Washington DC. Her husband wasn't an ambassador yet, but they had spent many years in the diplomatic corps and Irene was the epitome of poise and grace under pressure. The interviewer was asking about Irene's cameo in the remake, in which she played a grandmother, and he seemed determined to make the case that she wasn't suited for the part.

"I do have two grandchildren, you know," she said drily at one point, but the interviewer repeated his opinion that no one could imagine Irene Caffrey as a grandmother, or even as a mother. In the nanny role, he explained, she'd been near the age of the children and had been more of a cohort or big sister. No one, he repeated, could believe former comic actress Irene Randolph as parental or authoritative.

Finally Irene held up a hand, and said, "Shush. Kevin, is that you lurking back there?"

A voice off camera said, "Yes, ma'am."

"A producer, like your father, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"I remember your mother brought you to the set when we were filming the original movie. You couldn't have been more than a couple of months old, and I chatted with her sometimes when she changed your diaper. I want you to know that I still have her number, and if you let this farce continue I'll be giving her a call this evening."

Snickering could be heard from the cameraman.

A voiceover announced, "Needless to say, that interview never aired, and the reason you probably don't recognize the interviewer is that he was fired the next day. Mrs. Caffrey declined a follow-up interview, as the movie was slated for a Christmas release in the next few weeks and she said spending time with her family was her priority going into the holidays." The DVD clicked to the next track, and that same voice said, "The crew had arrived at Mrs. Caffrey's home about an hour ahead of the interviewer, who was running late and didn't take time to talk to her or the crew ahead of the disastrous interview. They were given permission to film as they set up and adjusted the lights. In footage never seen before, one of our cameras followed the actress while she waited for the interview."

Irene Caffrey knelt in the middle of the living room where the interview would take place. The folds of her pleated ivory skirt fell neatly around her, and an emerald green blouse complemented her eyes. Her golden hair was pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked around and said, "Well, I was going to introduce you to my grandson, but I don't know where he went. I do hope we find him soon. We'd be awfully upset if we lost him." Her voice had a teasing quality.

A childish giggle was heard.

"Oh, did you hear that? I wonder where that came from. Do you think it's him?"

The camera zoomed in on a child, about nine months old, peeking from behind a chair. He giggled again and then crawled toward her, babbling in baby speak.

"There you are!" Irene lifted the child up and he shrieked with laughter. She sat down on the sofa, bouncing him on her lap and talking to the crew until the child yawned. "Dear boy's getting tired. Is it your nap time, Neal?" she asked. He gave an even bigger yawn in response. "Yes, I thought so." She'd pulled him closer to her body, his head on her shoulder, and was about to stand up when another little boy ran into the room. He was three years old.

"Neal, Neal, Neal," he chanted as he ran. He skidded to a stop in front of Irene and announced, "I'm here."

"Yes, Henry, I noticed. Aren't you the little scoundrel?"

"What's a scoundrel?" he asked.

"It's a very clever boy who sneaks away from his grandfather."

He shrugged. "He had a phone call. It was boring. I wanna play."

"I'm sure Neal would like to play with you, too, but he can't right now. It's time for his nap."

Henry pouted. "He sleeps a lot."

Irene reached out to ruffle the disgruntled boy's hair. "It's tiring growing as fast as babies do. But he's working hard to become as big as you."

Henry clambered up the sofa to sit beside his grandmother and looked at Neal with disbelief. "He's really gonna get big as me?"

Wrapping her free arm around the boy, she nodded. Before Irene could say anything, a dark-haired woman about 30 years old entered the room. She wore an apron over a cream blouse and black slacks. "I thought I heard you in here. Henry, I'm looking for someone to help me finish the profiteroles."

"Profi…" He trailed off on his attempt at the unfamiliar word.

"Profiteroles," she repeated. "Someone needs to drizzle chocolate over them and then taste them. I need an expert to approve they're good enough for dessert tonight. Do you think you could do that?"

"Chocolate!" Henry slid off the sofa and took the hand extended toward him. He was halfway across the room in pursuit of a sugar high when he turned around and yelled, "Bye, Neal!"

The woman paused just inside the door to the hallway. "Do you need any help with him, Mom?"

Irene sniffed in disdain. "Don't insult me. Baby Bear and I will be fine."

"Baby Bear?" asked a voice off camera.

Irene beamed in the direction of the voice. "Would you hand me that bag? The blue one, behind you. Yes, that's it." A hand could be seen placing a bag on the sofa. Irene rooted around in it and pulled out a fuzzy onesie with bear ears on the hood. "Isn't it the most adorable thing? I had to buy it the moment I saw it." With practiced efficiency, she slid the baby into the onesie. "It's nice and cozy, and Neal sleeps best when he's warm."

"You call him Baby Bear because of the outfit?" asked a member of the crew.

"Nonsense. I bought the outfit because I call him Baby Bear. Come here." She beckoned. "Bring the microphone, right up to him." She turned the baby toward the camera. His face was scrunched up. "Hear that rumbly, growling sound? He does that when he's unhappy. It's our warning that he's about to cry. And that's my cue to take him up to his crib. I'll be back in a few minutes." She left the room and the camera crew. As she disappeared she could be heard cooing to the sniffling baby, "That's right. I know. You're tired, and I'm going to take you to a nice, comfy bed."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The track ended. Peter paused the DVD and there was silence for a moment.

"Baby Bear?" El said, her voice full of mirth. "And I thought Mom calling me Bumblebee was bad."

"I should check on the lasagna." Neal disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter leaned back and chuckled as a grinning El leaned against him. Noelle was right. He remembered this about Burke family gatherings on Mother's and Father's Days: hearing stories about when he and Joe were kids, usually accompanied by viewing embarrassing baby photos. And yet looking back he treasured those memories of teasing and laughter. It was good for Neal to experience this aspect of family.

When Neal returned El said, "Noelle looked so young."

Neal met her eyes. "That wasn't Noelle."

"It was your mother?" she asked. "Of course, she's the chef. I should have realized. Identical twins."

"May I?" Neal took the remote from Peter and went back to a point before the unfortunate onesie made an appearance. He paused at an image of himself on Irene's lap, facing the camera. "It's so weird," he said after staring at the screen a moment.

Peter had been studying Neal while Neal studied the image. "Your mom wasn't allowed to take any baby photos along when you went into WITSEC."

"No family photos from before, and we were discouraged from having new photos taken. Although I just thought Mom was camera shy." He fast forwarded to the moment the camera panned to Meredith and paused again. "I don't have any pictures of my mom. And I sure don't remember her like this – so happy and normal."

"But you've seen family photo albums in the last year, right?" Peter asked. He recalled something along those lines from Neal's few comments about how he'd spent Christmas. As far as he could tell, Neal and his cousin Henry snuck into their grandparents' home and looked through that kind of stuff.

"Yeah, sure," Neal said. "I've seen them." He walked over to the DVD player to eject the disc and return it to the case.

"It's not the same thing as having them, though," said El, with a significant glance at Peter. And at that moment Peter knew what they were getting Neal for Christmas. He was sure Noelle would help them get copies of old family photos to make an album for Neal. He liked this trend he was seeing in Neal: taking an interest in family, becoming less of a loner. It was something he wanted to encourage.

Soon they consumed the lasagna. Neal had also managed to produce a couple of side dishes and a dessert he called Zabaione alla Gritti. Peter was about to ask if there was any of it left for seconds when Elizabeth elbowed him, and directed his glance toward Neal. The kid was staring at his own dessert, his mind miles away.

"Neal?" Peter said.

He looked up, startled, and then looked around him. "Oh. Yeah." He stood and started clearing the table.

El joined in, and Peter did, too. Soon the dishwasher was loaded, and El stood in Neal's way as he moved toward the kitchen door. "What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "A lot of memories stirring around."

"Good ones?" El persisted.

"Mostly." He gave her a grin that Peter didn't entirely trust. It was his I-want-you-to-think-I'm-happy grin, but lacked the warmth a true grin carried. "I'm thinking of giving profiteroles a try. Maybe that will tempt Henry to come back. He has a serious sweet tooth."

They hung out in the living room a little longer, but when Satchmo demanded a walk, Neal decided it was time to leave. He turned down a ride from Peter, saying the man shouldn't be a chauffeur on Father's Day. He almost slipped out in the chaos of the Burkes dealing with getting the leash on their exuberant dog. But Peter wasn't going to let him escape like that.

"Thanks for the tie, and the dinner," Peter said. He pulled the young man into a quick hug. Neal actually stepped into it and patted Peter on the back before slipping away. It was progress. The first time Peter had hugged Neal – back in January – the kid had been startled and stiff.

Later, settled on the sofa with a beer in one hand and the other arm around El, Peter was ready to relax. El, however, kept fidgeting. Finally he put down the beer and asked, "What is it?"

"Did we do the right thing, having Neal here for Father's Day?" she asked.

Peter's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought so. I'd have said building family ties and putting down roots is exactly what he needs to keep him firmly entrenched in his new, law-abiding life. What did I miss?"

"I wonder if we pushed him a little too fast. He seemed overwhelmed toward the end. You know, I don't think he's seen his grandparents since his birthday party in March. I would say he liked them and liked spending time with them at the party, but then he needed to retreat, I guess. What if by trying to embrace him, we make him feel smothered?"

"Good point. If it seems like he's pulling away, we can give him space. Not distance ourselves, you know, but respect his boundaries." Peter stretched. "If you're right, the timing's good, anyway. Soon I'll be heading into my first round of mid-year appraisals with the team. I won't have time to hover, at least not in the office."

Peter's infamous gut instinct was all for hovering, and this time he overruled it. If Neal needed space, he'd let him have it, at least for a while. But he still proudly wore his new tie to work on Monday.

_A/N: Yes, I'm setting the stage for Diana to join the team as a "probie." Silbrith's Woman in Blue is the inspiration for the Baby Bear – you'll encounter bear references when she posts her final chapters. See the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for images of Baby Neal/Baby Bear. In the next chapter, Neal's world will be rocked in a typically angsty way, and in chapter 4 he picks up a new case to channel all that angsty energy. _


	3. Chapter 3 - Teacher's Pet

**June's mansion. Sunday evening. June 20, 2004.**

Neal expected the mansion to be dark and empty when he got home. June was spending the weekend with her oldest daughter's family in Philadelphia. At least that was the plan, but Neal saw her in the sitting room, a box of tissues by her side. This didn't look good.

"June?" he asked.

She looked up at him, blinking tears out of her eyes. "Oh, my. Neal, what time is it?"

"About 8:00. Do you need anything?"

She shook her head.

"Are you sure? Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine, Neal. I ate on the plane."

Neal perched on the arm of the sofa across from her. It was a casual pose, so she wouldn't think he was worried. "Didn't you say you were flying back on Monday?"

"I was. Neal, do you know what today is?"

"It's Father's Day," he said. When June had told him about her travel plans, it was before Elizabeth had reminded him. He hadn't connected her trip with the holiday until now. Why had June flown home today instead of spending it with family?

"The first Father's Day since Byron died. I keep hitting those firsts. First birthday, first Memorial Day, and now first Father's Day. They break my heart. But my daughter… Well she pulled me aside this morning and said I needed to let them be happy. My granddaughter Cindy and her father, they're still alive and deserve to celebrate without being drawn down by my sorrow."

"But–" Neal interjected, only to be interrupted.

"She's right. She said I deserve to mourn, but not everything can be about Byron. Today needed to be about Cindy and Paul. I stayed out of their way and watched them for a while. But I was too blue to join them, so I came home." She smiled sadly at Neal. "And what did you do today?"

"I was with Peter and Elizabeth. We took Peter to a Yankees game. I wish you'd called me. You didn't have to be here alone."

"Yes, I did. Sometimes the best thing is to be alone and not have to put on act for anyone. Pretending to be happy can be exhausting. Being alone and free to cry is something I need to indulge in more often. I think I tried to rush back into my old life too quickly. I tried to con myself into thinking I was ready." She stood up and hugged Neal. "You're very kind, Neal, but you don't have to worry about me. Go on upstairs."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The conversation with June weighed on Neal. He understood her sadness but chafed at his inability to do anything to help her. And he was still processing everything that had happened with Peter and Elizabeth today. From the playfulness of the afternoon to the poignant memories of his mother that had overtaken him this evening, he felt he'd been on an emotional rollercoaster.

Just as he'd fantasized as a child that his father was honest and dependable like Peter Burke, he'd had daydreams about his ideal mother. Someone who paid attention to him, who enjoyed teaching him instead of having to be enticed into noticing what he was up to. That had certainly been part of the appeal of Chantal, the master safecracker who taught him her trade in Europe a few years ago. Hers was more a big-sister vibe rather than motherly, but she showered Neal with attention when he proved adept at her trade, and she was also a gourmet chef. When he acknowledged a passing interest in cooking, she took him under her wing in the kitchen, too. The dessert recipe he'd used today had been hers. She'd always talked about opening a restaurant eventually. Maybe someday he'd visit her and swap stories about how they'd traded in a life of crime for more legal endeavors. But he wondered if she could ever really leave the life, married to Klaus. Her husband was an extraordinary cat burglar who'd shown no inclination to retire. Klaus was a charming guy, but by the end Neal had suspected that his charm hid a more ruthless nature, one that he couldn't…

And then his phone vibrated. His aunt was calling. She was supposed to be with Joe Burke and his daughters, but this Father's Day seemed to be cursed. Had something gone wrong for her, too? "Noelle?" he answered. "Are things all right with your branch of the Burke family?"

"I think Joe's daughters were as scared of me as I was of them. We were all on our best behavior at first, but we started to see glimpses of our real selves by the end. I have a meeting with the Win-Win board of directors in the morning, so I'm at the airport, waiting for my flight home. I wanted to check in and see how your day went."

"We saw the extras on the DVD you recommended," Neal said.

"I hope you enjoyed it." There was a pause. "Neal, are you still there?"

"Yeah. It's just… I mean, there were all these emotions going on anyway around Father's Day and my lack of decent father figures before I met Peter, and then seeing the video brought on a flood of memories of Mom. It's like I don't even know if I'm happy or sad right now."

"Repressed memories?" Noelle asked, concern in her voice.

"No, nothing like that. Just stuff I haven't thought about in a while. I've been trying to put some of that behind me, especially the parts when she was drinking. Suddenly my head's full of exactly those memories I've been trying to avoid, when I wanted the day to be about Peter and how great it's been to have him in my life. The thing is, I wish you'd given me some warning. It felt like… like an ambush."

"Oh, sweetie, that wasn't what I intended. I knew it might be bittersweet, but you had a support system there. It seemed the ideal opportunity for you to watch that DVD and open up to Peter and Elizabeth about some of the things we'd been discussing in our sessions."

He paced the floor, and ran his free hand through his hair. "No. I couldn't do that. It's supposed to be a happy holiday."

She sighed. "It's supposed to be about love and family. Sometimes love causes sadness, even pain, and the people we think of as family can take some of the burden if we let them. Neal, I'm sorry. It sounds like I tried to push you into something you weren't ready to handle. I understand you need time to reflect on everything, so I won't push you to talk tonight. But I want you to promise to call me on Tuesday night. It can be for just five minutes, but you have to call. Will you do that?"

"Sure. Tuesday night."

"Thank you, Neal. I want you to remember that I love you, and that I'll do everything I can to help you."

When the call ended, Neal wished he'd hidden his confusion over the day's events. Now Noelle thought she'd done something wrong. She was worried about him, when she had enough going on in her life. Not just the budding romance with Joe, but also her concerns about Henry. Her own son was God knows where on Father's Day, hunting the father who'd tried to kill him. Compared to that, Neal's issues seemed paltry. Maybe he should have gone ahead and shared his memories about his mother with Peter and Elizabeth. Maybe they would have appreciated having him show his trust like that. Maybe it would have turned something sad into an uplifting experience.

Second guessing himself was never fun, but he consoled himself with the reminder that the Burkes would give him another chance. Next weekend. They could get together again next weekend, and this time he'd get it right.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday morning Neal felt more like himself, as if he'd recovered from an emotional equivalent of the flu. He had his act together now, and rolled his eyes at his uncertainties of the previous evening. Noelle was right. Instead of suppressing the tidal wave of memories brought on by seeing his mother on the DVD, he should have been open with Peter and Elizabeth about those memories and how they affected him. If he'd done that, he probably would have ended the evening laughing with them about the Baby Bear bit. And he would have remembered to thank Peter. He'd intended to commemorate Father's Day by telling his father figure how grateful he was for the job at the FBI and for the help cramming for his graduate entrance exams. Plus there was the letter of recommendation he'd written to accompany Neal's application to Columbia. The difference Peter had made in his life in the last six months was immeasurable.

He grinned to see Peter wearing the Father's Day gift tie. It really did make that ugly suit look more stylish.

After the morning briefing he asked to talk to Peter. Before the agent could respond to the request, Hughes said that Peter was needed in meetings all morning. He explained that he had information from his trip to DC last week that he needed to share with all of the Manhattan team leads and had asked them to clear their calendars for that purpose.

Which meant Neal wasn't going to be able to corner Hughes about the FBI paying for his tuition.

For a couple of hours he stayed busy with Tricia looking at their new case. It was an intellectual property theft, which was rather dry but at least something new to keep his mind occupied. But by 11am it had fallen apart. The more they dug into the allegations, the more it looked like this was a case of jealousy, not theft. "Take an early lunch," Tricia suggested. "I'll see if I can find another case for us."

Returning to his desk, Neal saw a blinking light that indicated voice mail. The caller was Annina Brandel, from the U.S. Marshals' office. She said she wanted to talk. After a quick check in the FBI databases to confirm she was who she claimed, he returned her call. She told him she was free now, and as he had nothing pending he volunteered to head over to the Marshals' office to chat with her.

Annina led Neal to a small conference room. It seemed a relatively cheerful place, designed to put potential protected witnesses at ease, but Neal noticed the video equipment near the ceiling. It was very possible that their conversation was being recorded.

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of a calm and relaxed visitor. "What can I do for you, Annina?"

She sat across the table from him and opened a file folder. "You're something of an unusual case, Mr. Caffrey."

"Please, call me Neal."

She nodded. "Neal, you may not realize that most people who enter Witness Protection spend the rest of their lives in the program. You're one of the rare few to check out of the program and successfully reintegrate into a form of their old lives. I'd like to talk about your situation and confirm what we have in our files. It's possible your experiences could be useful to others."

"Sure." Neal pulled the folder toward himself. "Let's see what you've got and I'll let you know if anything's wrong or out of date."

Annina pulled the file folder back, but handed him a copy of one of the documents. "We have your address on Riverside Drive. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, it's…" Neal trailed off as he saw the appraised value of the mansion on the form. "Wait. You don't think I own this place, do you? I rent a space on the top floor."

"Yes, we know. And do we have your employment information correct?"

Neal saw he was listed as a consultant at the FBI. They even had his salary grade listed. They didn't actually show his salary, but he saw the range for his level. Interesting. There was definitely room to negotiate for a raise. "That's right."

"And will you confirm your salary grade?"

"Yes, it's accurate."

"Have you received any signing bonuses, or other significant forms of income beyond what's listed here?"

Neal shook his head. "That's it."

"And I understand you've applied to study at Columbia. But you haven't applied for any loans or other forms of financial aid?"

"Not yet. Sometimes the FBI will pay tuition. I'm waiting to see if they'll help me out. What exactly does this have to do with my reintegration?"

She slid another piece of paper across the table. It was a copy of his latest bank statement. "You present a conundrum, Neal. Given your FBI wages and the going rate for rent in your neighborhood, not to mention the vintage suits you wear, you should be in serious debt already. You shouldn't even be considering graduate school. But despite all logic telling us it should be impossible, you're maintaining a positive bank balance and considering taking on even more expenses. There's something missing here. Either you live a charmed life, or there's something else going on. Possibly of concern to our office."

Neal shook his head. "A charmed life, really? Have you talked to anyone about my life in St. Louis? It's a miracle I'm still alive, so yeah, I guess you could say I'm lucky."

"You're aware that a few months ago your mother's location was compromised?"

"Yeah. I'm aware that while I was in the hospital recovering from an attempt on my life, the guy who wanted to kill me threatened to give my mother's location to my father's enemies. Are you saying you think I had something to do with that? That I'm on the take like my father was? Because if that's what you're accusing me of, then I'm putting a stop to this until I have a lawyer present."

"All I'm saying is that your finances raise some red flags, and I need to look into that."

Neal took a deep breath. "If you assure me that you're looking into Robert Winslow's role in all of this, then I'll answer your questions about my finances." Neal saw the bewilderment on her face. "The FBI told the Marshals in February that Robert was the one who found Mom's location and told it to the man he sent to lure me out of the hospital. Haven't you read my file? Or my mom's?"

"You have to understand, information is segmented in this organization for a reason. In order to keep our witnesses safe, their files are shared on a need-to-know basis only. All I need to know is that we suffered a breech related to your mother's location at a time when your finances indicate a security risk."

Neal stood. "There's something else you need to know, Annina. Before I joined the FBI, I was a con artist. We survive by making our own luck, by creating a façade that shows an impossibly enticing scenario. A charmed life, if you will." He tossed his copy of the papers on the table. "You fell for a con, and you think I'm going to trust you with my secrets?"

He left the building, stopping by a bistro for a quick lunch. He definitely wanted to run this by Peter. What had the FBI had told the Marshals about Robert back in February? Why on earth were they looking into Neal about this matter almost four months later? Was this simple incompetence, or an indication that Robert was manipulating the system, possibly bribing someone again to cause trouble for Neal? Until he knew what was going on, he didn't want to share any information that Robert might find useful.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The fates seemed to be conspiring against Neal. Peter's morning meetings with Hughes turned into an all-day event. He never made it back to his office, instead emailing the team that he needed to leave early for an errand, and that'd he be out Tuesday. Elizabeth had made appointments to look at options for space she might rent to set up her new business, wanting to make a more professional impression than meeting clients in her home. With no pressing cases, Peter was taking advantage of the lull to go along with his wife and the real estate agent.

Thinking about it, Neal realized that he didn't need Peter. The expert on the Robert Winslow case was right here – shutting down his laptop to go home. Jones probably didn't want to work overtime his first full week back in town, and Neal would be willing to guess Tricia had been warned against letting him try to get information out of Jones.

Instead, Neal wrote a note and folded it into a sophisticated version of a paper airplane. An expert in origami had standards to maintain. The plane floated to Jones' desk, landing on his laptop.

Jones picked it up and saw the writing on the tail: _Dare you to volunteer for Tuesday Tails tomorrow._ Jones looked over at Neal, who shrugged as if to say: _What? I didn't do anything._

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tuesday Tails had started when the team followed Neal over his lunch hours when he first started to work at the Bureau. They hadn't trusted him, and wanted him to know he was being watched.

Neal had won them over by doing nothing suspicious, and by treating the lunchtime tails as a game. It evolved into a once-weekly training exercise, with agents refining their skills in tracking suspects. And recently Neal had reversed the game, saying he needed to learn to tail suspects, too. Once a month Neal followed an agent, who in turn practiced skills in losing a tail.

This week was a reverse Tuesday Tail, and it was the first time Jones had experienced being tailed by Neal. Jones wasn't bad, but not particularly creative, either. Ten minutes into the game, Neal walked up to Jones' hiding spot and said, "We need to talk."

Jones jumped down from the fire escape landing and followed Neal out of the alley. "I was afraid of this. I can't tell you about the case. Peter would have my head. He's determined to keep you out of it, worried you'll go off after Robert and get yourself killed."

"Don't worry," Neal assured him. "I'm not going to ask any questions. Just the opposite. There's some information I want you to have." They grabbed sandwiches to go from a small café and walked into a park. On a bench away from most of the foot traffic, Neal described his experience the previous day at the Marshals' office. Then he waited to see if Jones would draw the same conclusion.

"Four months after the fact, they're suddenly looking into you as a suspect?" Jones asked.

Neal nodded.

"Huh." Jones took the last bite of his sandwich and washed it down with the remnants from his bottle of water. "That sounds suspicious. Did you look up the Marshal you spoke with?"

"Yeah. She seemed clean, but relatively new. Green enough to take orders to look into me without questioning it."

Jones crumpled up the wrapper from his sandwich and made a perfect shot, dropping the wrapper into a trashcan a few feet away. "Thanks for telling me about it instead of looking into it solo. I'll see what I can find out."

As they stood up, Neal said, "Let me know if I can help."

"Like I said, Peter wants you kept out of this one."

Based on Jones' tone, Neal said, "It doesn't sound like you agree with him."

"I think catching Robert is going to take a lot of creativity, and you're probably the most creative person on the team. Sooner or later, we'll have to loop you in."

Neal was flattered by the comment, and it started his afternoon on a bright note. When he saw Hughes was finally back in his office, he hoped the positive trend would continue. He walked up the steps to Hughes' level and knocked on his door. "Got a minute?"

"Caffrey, I've been wanting to talk to you. Let's grab a conference room. I'd like some privacy for this." Hughes led him to a small, out-of-the-way conference room and gestured for Neal to take a seat.

"Has there been a decision about my tuition?" Neal asked as Hughes closed the door.

Hughes sat across from Neal and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I kept bumping the question up the ladder hoping to get an exception for you, but HR isn't flexible on this one. Only agents get tuition assistance. However there are loan programs that will give you a lower interest rate as a Federal employee."

Neal swallowed his disappointment, and appreciated the privacy to gather his thoughts before returning to his desk. Sure he could fake a smile for the team, but it would be easier if he had a few moments to bounce back from the bad news. So much for his supposedly charmed life. He looked up at Hughes, surprised the man wasn't on his way back out the door. "Thanks for trying. Was there something else?"

"At the party last week, I noticed you were very familiar with the Burkes' home. You were clearly well known to the dog, you helped out Peter and Elizabeth serving the food and then you picked things up. At times it almost seemed like you were a co-host."

Neal stared at him, unsure where this was going, but sensing Hughes' disapproval.

"I'm not the only one who noticed. We're FBI agents, after all. We're trained to be observant. The fact is, some of the team are starting to call you the teacher's pet. That's the kind of thing that leads to jealousy and dissension, and we can't have that. Team members need to trust each other with their lives. They need to trust Peter's leadership, and that his decisions aren't swayed by favoritism." Hughes paused to let Neal take that in. "Do you understand?"

"I'm undermining Peter's position?"

"I don't think it's intentional, and it isn't irreparable. I just need you to be aware of it. Don't ask for special treatment or act like you deserve it. Don't monopolize his time. Don't have inside jokes or otherwise make the team feel like you have an inside track with the boss." Hughes stood up. "You're an asset to this team, Caffrey. I've seen what you've contributed and I want to keep you around. But I also want Peter to succeed."

"So do I," said Neal.

"I'm glad to hear it. It's fine to be friends, as long as you remember to keep things businesslike when you're working. Remember that Peter's the boss, and treat him accordingly. That's all I'm asking."

"Does…" Neal trailed off. He'd wanted to ask if Peter knew about this, if he approved. But of course Peter knew. He'd spent all of yesterday in meetings with Hughes. Did he approve? Neal wanted to think he didn't, but looking at the big picture, he had to acknowledge that Peter's job was at stake, a job that meant the world to him at the best of times. Now, with Elizabeth quitting her job to start a new business, looking at locations and planning to take out a loan… Peter needed stability more than ever. "I wish Peter had been able to tell me," Neal said.

"I think you needed to hear it from someone more objective." With that, Hughes opened the door and left.

Neal took a deep breath. Everything Hughes said sounded reasonable, so why did it feel like he'd been punched in the gut?

_A/N: For a cast list, see the chapter 1 notes. Visit the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board to see how we're envisioning the characters and events. _

_For more about Klaus and Chantal, see Woman in Blue by Silbrith. For more about Neal's hospital stay and the threats Neal mentioned, see Caffrey Flashback._

_Thanks to Silbrith for asking how Neal can afford his standard of living, which inspired the conversation with the US Marshals. Annina will return later to resume that conversation, and the question of how Neal pays for Columbia will continue through most of this story. The next chapter will be posted in a week, and Neal will find the case he wants to take on to prove he is worthy of working for Peter._


	4. Chapter 4 - Anything You Can Do

**White Collar Division. Tuesday afternoon. June 22, 2004.**

After taking a few minutes to gather himself, Neal returned to the bullpen. He stopped in the kitchen area for a cup of coffee he didn't want, and looked around at the team members who weren't in the field this afternoon. How many of them agreed with Hughes that Neal was dragging Peter down?

Back at his desk, Neal started making a list of all the cases he'd worked, hoping to reassure himself of the good he'd done. After all, he'd contributed to that 90% closure rate everyone was so proud of. But the more he looked at the list, the more he remembered his mistakes. Was it his fault they hadn't been able to catch Adler after they had gotten a new lead? If he hadn't been so cocky going into the Highbury case, maybe Neal wouldn't have landed in the hospital and Peter would have been more focused. If Neal hadn't joined the team, would Agent Hitchum still be working here, instead of being arrested for accepting bribes and tampering with evidence? Neal didn't like knowing he'd contributed to rattling Peter's unquestioning faith in the FBI.

"Oh, good." Tricia Wiese stood beside Neal's desk. "Since we don't have a new case for you yet, I was going to suggest you take advantage of the downtime to document your midyear accomplishments. Looks like you're ahead of me. This list is a good start. You want to add the Tuesday Tails, of course."

Neal automatically added that to his list. Then he shook his head. "Most of these I messed up at some point. I'm not sure if I should be writing accomplishments or a letter of resignation."

Tricia leaned against his desk. "You're being too hard on yourself, Neal, and you're making me feel old. Virtually every new agent feels the way you do six months in. You've finally learned enough to understand what you should have done. We don't expect perfection. We do expect learning, and continuous improvement. Don't dwell on the past, except to learn from it. Use it to set goals for the future. Think about how you should approach your next case differently, given what you know now."

Neal felt a twinge of hope. She could have offered to help him with the letter of resignation, but had ignored that opening. Maybe he still had some allies here. "You really think I can do this job?"

"I think you _should _do it. You're a natural. More importantly, Peter thinks you should do it, and you know what everyone says about Peter's instincts. Don't bet against the gut."

Neal nodded. "I need a case, something I can use to show what I've learned."

"Something will come along," Tricia assured him. "Things never stay this quiet."

Not long after that pep talk his phone vibrated, offering a welcome reprieve from tweaking his midyear accomplishments in the ponderous HR systems. Seeing it was an unknown number, Neal hoped it was his cousin calling from a burner phone. Instead it was Theo Guy, a former member of alternate rock band Local Devastation who had recently opened his own recording studio. Working on a case involving threats to Michael Darling – another former member of the band – had led to Neal being invited to a recording session in February. They'd actually let him participate when Ty Merchant practiced songs Michael had written for Ty's second solo album. Just thinking about it lifted Neal's spirits. As a teenager he'd idolized these people.

"Remember I said I might call you if I needed a backup musician? You free this evening?" Theo asked.

"Sure," said Neal. Music was almost as good as art for purging emotions and stress. He'd planned to spend the evening painting, but he didn't have an inspiration and hated to force it. "You want me to bring my guitar?"

"Nah, this will be keyboards and a little singing. You gonna give your paycheck to charity again?"

Neal considered it. But he could use the extra money to put toward his tuition. "Not this time."

"OK. Remind me to get a social security number from you. By the way, you know a Grace Legend?"

"Yeah, I know her."

"Got a call yesterday from someone looking for her. Said she noticed your pseudonym in the credits for the album Ty's releasing next month, and thought you might be able to put her in contact. And that got me thinking you'd be a good choice for this gig. You want her number?"

Neal wrote down the woman's name and number. Then he debated whether to call her, or if he should call Grace first. The easy, obvious choice would be calling Grace, giving her this other woman's number, and leaving it up to her whether she wanted to talk to whoever this was.

But a series of questions were forming in the back of his mind. Questions he should have asked weeks ago, but he'd been distracted. Finding out what this stranger knew might give him leverage when he started looking for answers, and therefore he called her first.

His call went to a receptionist at the Julliard School, and then was transferred to Professor Victoria Laszlo. "My name's Neal," he said when the professor answered. "Theo Guy told me you wanted to talk about Grace Legend."

"I'm looking for her contact information." Victoria had a smoothly modulated voice. She must be a singer or stage actress, Neal guessed.

"Can you tell me why?" Neal countered. "I don't normally give her number out to strangers."

"Do you read MINNY?" she asked.

Music Industry Notes – New York. It was an online newsletter about music performances and performers. Neal used to read it to look for events he might want to attend. But prepping for Columbia entrance exams and worry about Henry's disappearance had kept Neal too busy for the music scene, and he'd stopped reading it. "I used to, but not recently. Not since April. What does it have to do with Grace?"

"Early this month she was brought to my attention by one of our alumni as someone who might be a good fit for our school. I received an invitation to a private performance featuring Ms. Legend and several other musicians, and fortunately I was able to attend. She is truly a gifted pianist, and I had hopes of speaking to her about applying to our school. Unfortunately the event was interrupted, and… Well, you can read the details in MINNY. I'm still interested in speaking to her about our school, but my main concern is simply to ascertain that she recovered from the incident. I know how fragile young performers can be."

Neal was impressed that the Julliard was interested in Grace. He knew she was good, but didn't know she was that good. "The alumnus who recommended Grace couldn't give you her information?"

"No. When I called Ty Merchant, he said he'd never heard of her. I'm still trying to determine who was claiming to be Ty in the first place. But I follow news about our former students, and when I saw your name associated with his latest album, I called the recording studio to see if they could put me in touch with you. I'd seen your name tangentially connected to hers when I ran a search for her."

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll check on her, and give her your number." He was about to say goodbye, but then decided to ask, "Oh, one more thing. Are you familiar with Masterson Music?"

"Some of our students have gone on to sign contracts with them, but I don't have personal experience with the organization."

"So you wouldn't know if anyone from the company attended the event where you heard Grace perform?"

"No, I wouldn't recognize anyone from the company. But I noticed several people from the music industry in the room. I wouldn't be surprised to hear someone from Masterson was among them."

"OK. Thanks." Ending the call, Neal dove into research. He had to admit the FBI had upped his skills in that area. First he found the issue of MINNY the professor had mentioned. Grace had participated in a concert of classical music, giving a particularly impressive piano solo that MINNY raved about. During an intermission, she was surrounded by concert-goers who were praising her performance of Liszt's "La Campanella" when a young man pulled her a few feet away and started lambasting her. He said she was wasting her time, that she was fooling herself if she thought she would ever be as good as he was, that he'd only included her in his act out of pity, and that these people were simply being polite. He'd gone on until she started to cry and ran away, and she didn't return for the second half of the performance. When people stopped looking for Grace, they realized the man who'd been berating her had also disappeared.

Then Neal tracked other reports and commentary on the story. There was speculation that the man who'd disrupted the event was Shawn Legend, who partnered with Grace in the duo Urban Legend. Most of the pages dedicated to Grace on the Urban Legend site had been taken down, and replaced with a post that the group had split due to "artistic differences." A Grace Legend site, titled Urban Chaos, had popped up and there were hundreds of comments posted from fans and from people who'd heard about the split. Some posts railed against Shawn. Some requested that Grace perform some of their favorite he-done-me-wrong songs. She was getting a lot of attention for someone who had never recorded an album.

It was a con, of course. He'd helped them plan it last year, and Neal liked to think that the suggestions he'd made back then had contributed to the success they'd had in pulling it off. But while he was impressed at what they'd accomplished, he was also annoyed that Shawn and Grace had been in New York two weeks ago and not contacted him. After all, the split of Urban Legend was intended to be the first element in a long con. Were they foolhardy enough to try the rest of it without him, or had they replaced him?

And the timing surprised him. This con was Henry's brainchild, part of his plan to trap a corrupt executive in the music industry. Why kick this off when he was busy hunting for Robert? Henry didn't think he'd could do both simultaneously, did he?

Neal took a break to get decent coffee from a shop across from the FBI building, and let his mind wander. Seven years ago, shortly after Neal had run away from home, his cousin Henry Winslow found him and took him to a hospital. And then he took Neal under his wing. For reasons he wouldn't explain at first, Henry seemed to be on the run, and they got by using a variety of cons. Sometimes they'd convince a hotel they had a reservation. Sometimes they lived out of Henry's car. And Henry always brought along his guitar. He'd been happy to learn that Neal could play it, and that he had a decent singing voice. They'd sing along with the radio when driving, and Henry would challenge Neal to play the songs they'd heard. Neal could usually play the melody of a song once he'd heard it a few times, although he was better on a piano than on a guitar.

Then one morning Henry got a call and they drove all day to Minneapolis. All Henry would say was they were going to a concert. They got there as the venue was being set up. There was seating for thousands of people. Henry introduced himself as Shawn Legend, said Neal was his brother, and next thing he knew they were meeting with a band. Not the headliners, but the ones who would go on stage first and open for the main event. They were short a guitar player – the guy had been skateboarding the day before and wound up with a serious concussion – and they'd called on Shawn Legend as a substitute. Neal watched from backstage as his cousin performed at a rock concert, and as an 18-year-old he thought it was the coolest thing he'd ever witnessed.

He smiled now as he remembered a group of teenage girls swarming the backstage area. They'd worn badges that indicated they'd won a radio contest giving them the chance to be backstage. Most of the girls were ignoring the opening act, instead trying to catch glimpses of the headliners. But one girl stood beside Neal and asked, "Are you part of the crew?"

"Nah. I'm with my brother." He pointed to Henry, one of several guitarists. He was in the back row, but he stood out from the rest in ways Neal was studying carefully.

"Wow. Do you get into a lot of concerts?" she asked.

"This is the first one he's brought me to. But he's teaching me to play." Actually, Neal had started teaching himself to play the guitar when he was 15, but Henry had given him a lot of pointers. And he wondered if Henry might intend for him to go onstage like this someday.

When his part of the performance was over, Henry joined Neal backstage. He allowed himself to bask in the admiration of the flock of teenagers, but didn't seem to mind when their attention transferred to the main act. When the headliners started singing, Henry directed Neal's attention to the stage, pointing out what the band members did beyond simply hitting the right notes. He explained how their movements, expressions and eye contact conveyed emotions and affected the audience. He helped Neal see the difference between playing a song, and performing it. He praised some members of the band and sharply criticized others with a scathing tone that Neal would eventually associate with Shawn. Over time Neal learned that an alias was often more than another name – it was a separate background and personality from your own. And Shawn was much harsher than Henry.

That evening, Henry hinted that his Shawn alias did more than just fill in for missing performers, and that Neal could join the act if he promised not to tell anyone that Henry and Shawn were the same person. And after the concert he'd gone on to explain why he needed an alias he could disappear into at a moment's notice.

And thus Neal Legend had been born, and they started to call themselves Urban Legend. It had been fun until Neal had to leave four years later. Robert's blackmail gave him the options of running or going to prison. He hadn't told Henry what Robert had done, not wanting to make Henry's rocky relationship with his father even worse. Confused and angry, Henry had dealt with his reactions to Neal's abandonment in his Shawn persona, saying to Neal much the same things MINNY reported he'd said to Grace. And then he'd gone on to tell people who asked about the missing half of the act that his brother was too weak, then too sick, and then finally saying Neal Legend was dead.

But Henry had learned that a duo could do things a one-man act couldn't, or maybe he was simply lonely. He'd recruited their cousin Angela to replace Neal, and she went with her middle name: Grace.

Shawn Legend. Neal Legend. Grace Legend. They each had their own unique reasons for wanting to slip into those personas. Reasons they wanted… No, reasons they _needed _to keep those aliases secret. Only one other person knew who they really were.

Along the way, they'd met a lot of musicians and heard a lot of stories. The most disturbing were about a guy named Stan Masterson, who'd recently formed his own company from the remnants of a firm that had folded. The stories about him involved empty bank accounts, broken dreams, and amazing music that would never be heard. And it made Henry mad. He often told Neal this was the kind of thing his father should have been looking into with Winston-Winslow's resources.

By the time he returned to the 21st floor, Neal thought he knew what Henry was doing now. It was a con inside a con inside yet another con.

The first con was intended to bring down Stan Masterson. That in itself was incredibly complex. Henry had been refining the plan for over a year and it still wasn't a sure thing.

The next con was keeping Henry's family – including Neal – in the dark. Everyone was so convinced that Henry was obsessed with tracking Robert that no one considered he had something much more dangerous in mind. That meant everyone focused on finding Robert before Henry could, but no one was actively looking for Henry himself.

And the third con was the killer, perhaps literally. By disappearing as he had, Henry was taunting Robert, hoping to lure him into a game of cat and mouse. While everyone assumed Henry was hunting Robert, he was actually trying to get Robert to hunt him. The Masterson con enabled Henry to slip in and out of view in a way that would infuriate his father and perhaps draw him out of hiding.

On the one hand, it might be brilliant. On the other hand, it might be so complex it would collapse under its own weight like a black hole, crushing Henry in the process. And maybe he didn't care, as long as Robert was crushed, too.

If Neal wanted to help Henry, he had two challenges. The first was to come up with a better plan, and the second was to convince his cousin to abandon the plan he was following now. Make that three challenges. Finding Henry and changing his mind could be a full-time job, and Neal already had a full-time job. Unless… Maybe he could turn this into his next case. He'd beat Henry at his own game as a means to prove he belonged in the White Collar team based on his own merit, and not because he was the teacher's pet.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He needed time to work up a plan to replace Henry's, but he already knew that step one was forming a crew. Henry had gone for a trusted few. Only Shawn, Grace and Neal were needed to pull off the version of the plan Neal assumed Henry was still using as a roadmap for stopping Masterson. Henry had insisted they avoid involving the FBI or Winston-Winslow, due to the risk that they would uncover secrets both Henry and Neal wanted to keep hidden.

Neal would take the opposite approach now. He'd use the resources of the Bureau and Win-Win to get ahead of Henry. He'd protect their secrets by keeping both organizations too focused on the prize to think about anything else. It was like a game of Find the Lady, but instead of a Queen, they'd be trying to keep their eyes on Robert.

It hurt a little to think he couldn't include Peter in the crew, but the end goal included showing he could succeed without his father figure's help. He turned his focus to Tricia, instead. As a senior agent, she would assume she should take the lead in the operation. He needed to make her think she was in charge. And she would be in charge – of the piece of the con Neal let her in on.

He started his recruitment by sitting down on Jones' desk at 4:30 in the afternoon. Some of the agents who came in early were already gone or heading out. Tricia usually left at 5:00 and would want to deal with him quickly. "I know I said I don't have any questions about your case," Neal told Jones, already seeing Tricia moving toward them, "but there is one thing…" He glanced up at Tricia. "Oh. Hi." He pretended to be surprised to see her. It would help if she believed getting involved was her own idea, something he'd actually resisted.

"Neal, you know you aren't supposed to talk to Jones about the Robert Winslow case."

He gave her his most earnest expression. "It's not really about Robert, per se. It's more about FBI procedure."

She raised a brow, not buying it. "Then why are you asking our most junior agent? No offense, Jones."

Jones shook his head. "None taken."

Neal said, "Well, it's in context of the search for Robert. And I wasn't really comfortable asking you, because… It's sort of…" He looked around, bringing Tricia's attention to the fact that everyone left in the bullpen was staring at them.

"Let's take this up to…" A quick glance showed that there was a meeting going on in the conference room, and Tricia frowned.

"Peter's office is empty," Neal said in an off-hand manner.

She took a deep breath and said, "Fine. Since he's out today, we'll use his office." She led the way and it seemed natural for her to sit behind the desk, with Neal and Jones in the guest chairs. "Now what's this all about?"

"I've been thinking about the Winslow case," Neal said. Before Tricia could chime in he added, "Come on. The guy wants to kill me. How could I not think about it?" When she nodded he continued, "At this point we're clear on what he's done and how he did it. All that's left is the manhunt, right?"

Jones shrugged. "I can't talk about what's still ongoing outside of the search for Robert. Our agreement with Win-Win that allowed me access to their files also included a non-disclosure agreement. Peter and Hughes signed the same NDA, you two didn't."

"So it's ok to talk about the status of the search?" Neal asked.

"Yeah," Jones said. "The status is safe enough. Where Peter will have my hide is if I point you in a direction that sends you looking for trouble."

Neal looked at Tricia. "This is where things get uncomfortable. I wondered why the search for Robert wasn't turned over to Missing Persons. That's their specialty, right?"

She shook her head. "They specialize in cases where someone being missing is the original issue. When a case originates in another department, that department leads the search for witnesses and suspects."

"But why not pull in the team with the expertise when the initial search is unsuccessful? I mean, except for the obvious." He rolled his eyes. "Rice isn't exactly fun to work with." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, growing more serious. "It's been months with no sightings of Robert. And you came to White Collar from Missing Persons. If we really want to find him, it seems like we should get the most experienced agent involved. But I heard about how you joined White Collar after Rice beat you out for the lead role. I don't want to cause an interdepartmental incident by asking you to step on their turf. Isn't that how it would look if you take the lead on a manhunt rather than handing it over to them?"

Jones looked thoughtful. "The fact is, I could use help on this one. It doesn't have to be a big deal if I just ask for the advice of a senior agent, does it?"

Tricia thought it over. "It shouldn't be an issue, and I have time. I don't have another case, and even if one came along tomorrow I probably couldn't take it, because I'm on vacation next week. As long as we keep Peter aware of what we're doing, I'd be open to advising you on your next steps." Then she turned her attention to Neal. "We still can't include you, but I appreciate the suggestion. I can let Peter know it was your idea."

"I'd rather you didn't. He might resist it, a knee-jerk reaction to hearing my name and _Robert Winslow_ in the same conversation."

"I understand," Tricia said. "How about I give you credit after we find Robert?"

"That sounds better," Neal agreed.

Jones checked his watch. "Sorry. I'm supposed to meet George at the gym."

Neal smiled at the mention of the man who'd helped save his life. "Tell him I said hello."

"You got it," Jones promised as he opened the door to leave Peter's office.

Tricia stood to leave, and was at the door when Neal sighed. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"No, it's…" He closed his eyes and slouched in the chair, legs stretched in front of him. "I don't want to keep you. It can wait."

Tricia turned around and leaned against Peter's desk, facing Neal. "What is it?"

He opened his eyes and took a ragged breath, and it wasn't entirely an act. He really was worried. "Robert isn't the only one who's missing. But he's the only person we're looking for."

It didn't take Tricia long to see where he was going. "Your cousin?"

"It feels like we're too wrapped up with the bad guy to help his victims. But at the same time, I'm sitting around with nothing to work on." He ran his hands through his hair. "It's so frustrating!"

"Isn't the search for Robert and for his son essentially one and the same?"

"That's the assumption we've all been making. But I've been thinking about it this afternoon – a lot of time on my hands – and I think we have it backwards. If Henry wanted to find Robert, he'd have stayed at Win-Win, using their systems and data. I think his goal is the opposite. He falls off the radar, with the expectation that Robert's going to hear about it and wonder what he's up to. Then he starts leaving clues, ones that his father would pick up on. Instead of finding Robert, he lets Robert find him."

Tricia moved into the chair beside Neal. "When you were in the hospital, we asked Henry to impersonate you, and it was shocking, actually. He knows you. And I'd assume you know him equally well."

Neal nodded, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to interrupt her when she was taking the leap he wanted.

"How confident are you in this theory about Henry leading Robert into a trap?"

"I'm certain of it. It's exactly the kind of thing he would do. And it's the only reason that makes sense for not staying in contact with me or his mom. He hasn't talked to either of us in weeks."

"Do you think you could find these clues he's leaving for Robert?" Before Neal could answer, she held up a hand to stop him. "_Without _leaving the Bureau? No one's going to approve letting you in the field to join your cousin in this scheme of his."

That was disappointing, but not unexpected.

"For the most part, yeah, I think I can track him from here. But –"

"Why did I know there would be a _but_?" Tricia asked.

"Staying off the radar, leaving clues, and keeping track of whether Robert's following those clues… That's not a one-man job. He must have an accomplice, and for some incomprehensible reason it isn't me. But I have thoughts about who he'd use – namely people who've helped him in the past. I'd need to talk to each of them face-to-face to figure out which one of them it is, and to convince each of them to let me know if they hear anything. Then I can handle the rest safely from here."

"Henry's smart. And he has several weeks' head start," Tricia pointed out. "As I recall, the two of you are evenly matched. Do you really think you can make up the lost ground?"

"I've got two advantages right now. The first is that he doesn't know I've figured out what he's up to. The second is that he's seriously hurting over learning the truth about his dad. He's still smart, but he's not thinking as clearly as he normally would. We saw that when Peter had to come to our rescue at the airstrip. He'll slip up again, and we need to catch him when he falls. Because if we aren't there for him, it will be Robert who shows up take advantage of Henry's weakness."

"Damn it," said Tricia.

"What?"

"Henry isn't a suspect or a witness. He really could be classified as a missing person. And there's no way I'm turning the search for him over to Rice. There has to be a way to keep this case in White Collar." She paused as she considered everything they had discussed. "Tell you what, let me sleep on it. I'll think of something; I'm sure of it. Catch me before the morning briefing tomorrow." Then she shook her head. "No, that won't work. It's my turn to take the boys to daycare. I'll barely get here ahead of the briefing. Will you follow my lead in tomorrow's meeting?"

Neal nodded. "Absolutely." Mission accomplished. Tricia was on his side, and she thought she was in charge.

He left the office soon after she did. He needed to change into something more casual and head to Theo's studio, to recruit the next member of his crew.

_A/N: See the story Caffrey Flashback to read about how George saved Neal's life, and to see how Peter came to the rescue at the airstrip. See the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for images of Grace and Shawn Legend and to hear Grace's solo. Thanks to Silbrith for being an extraordinary beta reader and for brightening my birthday. And thanks everyone for reading! In the next chapter, Neal cons Peter and Tricia. Or are they conning him?_


	5. Chapter 5 - Pinocchio

**Theo's studio. Tuesday evening. June 22, 2004.**

Neal arrived at Theo's studio early, hoping to convince the music expert to join his con. Or his case, from the FBI's perspective. Some of each, Neal supposed. He was in the process of conning the FBI into turning his plan into an official case.

He wasn't going to get time alone with Theo right away, however, because someone else was already there and ordering people about. When Theo broke away to say hello to Neal, the bossy redhead was at his heels.

"Who's this?" she demanded.

Unsure if Theo would use his real name or the alias he used as a stage name, Neal spoke up. "Neal Legend."

"Neal, this is Cassie Blanca," Theo said. "She's a songwriter using my studio tonight to record some demos. It's good stuff. I think she'll get groups interested if we get the songs to the right people. Cassie sings and normally she'd play the keyboards herself, but as you can see…"

Cassie's left arm was in a sling. "I don't know you," she told Neal, as if that were a crime. With her good arm, she gestured toward a keyboard. "You've got 60 seconds to show me what you can do, and then I'll decide if you're good enough."

"Cassie," Theo pleaded. "There aren't a lot of people with the skills you want available at the last minute. Neal's good. Don't antagonize him."

Neal smiled to himself, accustomed to the artistic temperament Cassie displayed. He'd started piano lessons before he turned ten years old, following in a long tradition of Caffreys who loved and excelled in music. According to his grandfather, their branch of the family had been itinerant musicians in Ireland before coming to the States a few generations ago. Creating the duo Urban Legend with Henry had followed in that tradition, and it brought Neal in contact with many professional and hoping-to-go-pro musicians. He'd learned to take their tantrums in stride, to be amused by them.

And that's one reason he knew that music would never be more than a beloved hobby, and that art was what he needed to study if he could afford Columbia. Because while he could be objective and amused about music, he couldn't do that with his art.

He walked over to the keyboard. Unsure what Cassie's genre was, he started with a rock beat, transitioned into a classical piece, and then gave her a pop ending. He was certain he'd gone over his minute, and the fact that she hadn't yelled at him to stop was a good sign. "OK, I'm warmed up. Anything in particular you want to hear?"

Theo sighed in relief as Cassie handed Neal sheet music. She said, "We're starting with this one."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Cassie was demanding, but she had reason to be. Her songs were excellent, and Neal enjoyed learning them. He was surprised she hadn't sold any of them yet.

Most of the musicians packed up and left quickly at the end of the recording session, heading out to their next gigs or to the jobs that paid the bills. Cassie lingered, playing passages one-handed on one of Theo's keyboards. Either she was dreaming up new songs, or simply appreciating instruments that struggling musicians couldn't afford to own.

Neal went ahead and asked Theo, "You familiar with Masterson Music?"

To his surprise, Cassie stopped playing and said, "That place is bad news, Neal. I know they're big, and it's tempting to work with them when you're looking for a break, but the best advice I can give you is to steer clear of them."

"Is that personal experience talking?" he asked.

"I signed with them a year ago. Then I learned they weren't interested in me at all. They'd signed me and a lot of new singers like me to get us off the market, because we sounded too much like ones they were already promoting. They wanted a limited set of singers for each 'sound' they were marketing, and felt we were diluting the market. They won't produce anything I do, but I'm locked into an exclusive contract for five years. Since they aren't using me, they aren't paying me, but legally I can't take money from anyone else to perform music. Fortunately they didn't know I was starting to write songs, so they didn't prohibit that in my contract. Selling songs is the only way I can support myself. Other than, you know, waitressing."

Neal nodded. He'd heard the same story many times. A couple of years ago Henry had posted warnings online, hoping to keep musicians from signing with Masterson. But Masterson had leverage in the industry and convinced most sites to take down the so-called libelous remarks quickly. He could afford IT experts who could block and even track Henry's activity. They'd had to give up on online warnings, instead relying on word-of-mouth. But it was hard to reach many people that way, and hard to convince them to turn down what sounded like lucrative contracts. And of course, some musicians did extremely well at Masterson Music, if you were one of the lucky few they decided to promote. Those were the names you'd find if you did a search on Masterson online.

In theory, people in Cassie's position could sue to be released from their contracts, and even to collect damages under Masterson's predatory practices. So far, no one had been successful. They couldn't afford attorneys who could compete with Masterson's. Even worse, those who filed lawsuits were labeled as troublemakers. Masterson had friends throughout the industry, and they refused to work with anyone on Masterson's blacklist.

"Thanks for letting me know," Neal said. He waited to see if Theo would comment on Masterson. When that didn't happen, he asked Theo if he could point Neal to more work. "I can travel," Neal added.

"Thought you had a day job."

"Yeah, but I can be flexible for the next few weeks. I need some extra money. I'm trying to go to college in the fall, but I didn't realize how expensive it was gonna be."

"Not much here at my studio, but I have a friend in Las Vegas who said one of his acts was asking for a break. I'll check around."

"Thanks, man." Neal decided he'd asked Theo about Masterson later. He had a feeling the guy had an opinion but didn't want to share it in front of Cassie. There might still be a chance of getting him to join the crew, if Neal knew the right angle.

As Neal was about to head out, Cassie decided to leave. At the door to the studio, he considered turning around, pretending he'd forgotten something so that he could talk to Theo alone, but there was something about the way Cassie was watching Neal that made him keep walking. She had something else to say, maybe something about Masterson.

"Your name is Neal Legend?" she asked as the door closed behind them.

"That's right."

"Any relation to Shawn and Grace Legend?"

He shrugged. "I used to work with Shawn. Years ago. You wanna share a cab?"

"Sure. You know, I read about their split. That was epic. I commented on her site, telling her to forget him and move on as a solo artist. A lot of my friends said the same thing on their blogs. It drives me nuts how a guy in the 21st century can still be that misogynistic. He can't admit a woman is as good as he is."

"Well, to be fair, it wasn't a gender issue. It's an ego thing. No one is allowed to be better than Shawn. He said similar stuff to me when we split."

"Good thing you quit working with him. It's weird, though. I remembering reading on the Urban Legend site that the group was originally two guys. Brothers, right? Was that you? But I thought it said Shawn's brother died."

"The best urban legends are ghost stories," Neal said. Then he held up his arm to hail a passing cab. He opened the door and Cassie climbed in.

"Where's your stop?" she asked. But by the time she turned around, Neal had melted into the shadows. "Neal?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Talking to Cassie had given Neal an idea. After disappearing on her, he left a message for Mozzie asking when he could meet. Then he took the subway home and called Noelle from his loft. To his surprise, she didn't start by picking up their conversation about the DVD. Instead she asked if he still planned to attend his cousin Angela's birthday party.

"Of course," he said. Angela had stopped in New York during her spring break to attend his birthday party. The least he could do was join an event in her honor in Seattle. With any luck, Henry would show up, and Neal could talk to both of them about taking a different approach with Masterson. And more importantly, he could convince Henry to give up his dangerous plan to catch Robert. "I wouldn't miss it."

"I'm concerned about Angela," Noelle said. "I'd like to get your opinion after you talk to her. It's possible that my worry about Henry is making me overreact. But on the other hand, I know she had a hard time of it after her father died last summer. Henry kept telling me that he was checking in on her, and that she was coping in a healthy way. But I'd like to be sure, now that Henry's…" She trailed off. Sadness always seemed to overtake her when she talked about her son. "I don't want to annoy her by overreacting, but I also don't want to ignore any lingering issues."

"Are you asking me for a second opinion?" Neal asked.

"That's right."

He'd been multi-tasking, putting some things away while they talked, but now he sat down to focus on the call. "Me? The one who's been in therapy the last few months?"

"Yes. You, Neal. You're perceptive, you'll be more objective than I am because you don't know her well yet, and you helped Henry get his master's in psychology so you know what to look for. I'd value your opinion."

Her confidence in him was staggering. "Yeah. Sure, I can do that."

"Thank you." While she had him off-balance she said, "One quick exercise, and then I'll let you go."

They'd done this often enough that he knew the drill. He emptied his mind as much as he could, waiting for her off-the-wall question. All he had to do was give the first answer that popped into his mind. It wasn't easy for him – Noelle said he had mastered the art of brooding and overthinking things – but he was getting better with practice. It helped that these exercises led to interesting insights, making him curious enough about the outcome to trust her with his unguarded thoughts. Keeping his mind a blank he said, "Ready."

"You're a character in a Disney cartoon. Tell me which one you are."

"Umm."

"Now, Neal."

"Pinocchio," he said.

"Tell me why."

"He had issues with lying." Neal paused. He knew Noelle well enough to guess she'd drag more out of him, so he went ahead and explained, "A con artist lies, constantly. I'm good at it. Often it's easier than telling the truth, or dealing with the truth. But I… I can't lie to Peter. I've wanted to sometimes, but wanting his trust has always won out."

"Is Peter your Giuseppe, pulling your strings?"

Neal huffed out a laugh that was more of a sigh. "I think it's more accurate to say Peter pushes my buttons, and he'd probably say the same thing about me. If anyone's pulling my strings these days, it's the FBI. They have so many rules about what we can do and how we can do it. It's easy to trip over them. And I have to dance to their tune, or lose my job. As the boss Peter's responsible for making sure I do what the FBI deems right, but he usually cuts me some slack."

"Pinocchio didn't feel real."

"I guess that's apt. As much as Peter tries to treat us all the same, we're all aware I'm the only consultant on the team. The rest are _real _agents. There's stuff they can do, benefits they have, that I'm excluded from." Like tuition assistance.

"It's good to be aware of your situation, to acknowledge your limits, as long as it doesn't affect your sense of self-worth. You don't have to be like everyone else. Remember that the more unique and rare a jewel is, the higher its value. You don't look at the Hope Diamond and say, 'I wish it could be more like a normal diamond,' do you?"

"I get it," Neal said.

"I'm glad. I look forward to seeing you in Seattle. Goodnight, sweetie."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning Peter was back in the office. He stopped by Neal's desk. "Sorry my meetings ran long Monday and I couldn't get back to you. There was something you wanted to talk about?"

Neal had wanted to ask to get together again Sunday evening, hoping to get it right this time by thanking Peter for all he'd done, and even opening up about the memories of his mother that had flooded him on Father's Day. But yesterday that plan had fallen by the wayside. He wasn't going to invite himself over to the Burkes' while anyone in the bullpen could hear, and he had new weekend plans now. Some of those plans depended on Tricia, who was currently stepping off the elevator. He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm good." He glanced quickly at Peter, wondering if he'd be relieved that Neal wasn't being too familiar in the office. But Peter wore his best poker face. Neal looked out toward his coworkers, who were standing up. "Time for the morning briefing." He stood and walked a few steps with Peter, but made a point of stopping in the break area for coffee, so that they wouldn't be seen walking into the conference room together.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter hadn't realized how much he'd hoped El was wrong about Neal needing space. It hit him squarely in the gut this morning when Neal didn't want to talk, when he made a point of not walking upstairs together.

Was this what retired Agent Thomas Gardiner had warned Peter about? A young man Neal's age didn't stay in hero-worship mode for long, Thomas had said. Soon he'd realize his hero was as flawed as everyone else, and after a period of adjustment they could settle into friendship. Peter wracked his brain to figure out what might have disillusioned Neal.

Was it something to do with that DVD? Should Peter not have laughed at the scene of Irene with baby Neal? Neal had been so pensive afterward, eager to leave the house. Who knows what had been going through his head.

Or was it something to do with the Robert Winslow case, and his worry about Henry? Peter noticed Neal's look of frustration in the morning briefing when Jones reported he could use some help on the case. Neal didn't have a case, but there's no way he could be assigned to work this one. That had to rankle.

At the end of the briefing, Tricia said, "One of my goals for this year was to do some coaching. I didn't have much to say about that goal in my midyear accomplishments, and I need to fix that. Since I don't have a case now, I'd like to focus on helping our two most junior team members for the rest of this week."

That would be Jones and Neal. Peter nodded. He liked the idea of someone he trusted keeping an eye on Neal right now, with one caveat. "They can't work on the same case."

"Of course. Do you have time to review my plans now?"

Peter nodded. "Jones, Neal, let's see what Tricia has in mind for you. Everyone else can get back to work."

Her plan for Jones was straightforward and it made sense to offer him guidance in his task of looking for Robert. Jones would bring her up to speed on what had been done so far, and she would help him map out his next steps.

Then she moved on to her plan for Neal. "I think it's safe to say that Neal prefers to learn by doing, so I'd like to put him on a case that would help him learn FBI procedures and practice some new skills." She looked straight at Peter. "The Henry Winslow case."

"What? There isn't a Henry Winslow case. He's gone off the rails looking for his father, and the last thing I want is to send Neal careening after him."

"You're right, there isn't a Henry Winslow case now, but there was one in late 90s. He had been attending the University of Texas, but never showed up for any of his classes in the fall semester that started a shortly after his 20th birthday. A week into the semester he cancelled his enrollment, citing health issues, and was refunded most of his tuition. No one could find him, and his family reported him missing. Occasionally he left a message for his parents, but refused to tell them where he was or if he was under any kind of coercion. Despite all the resources of Win-Win, they went months at a time without getting a single hit on his location. He didn't show up again until March, when he got a voicemail from his mother telling him that Neal was missing. A few days later, Robert had us close the case, saying that Henry had been found and was safe. But to this day we have no idea where Henry was all that time, or how a 20-year-old could hide from the FBI and from Win-Win."

"That must have driven Robert nuts," Jones said. "From everything I've heard, the guy sounds like a control freak."

Tricia nodded. "It's unlikely he was content with Henry's safe return. I have to assume that in the intervening years he researched how Henry eluded everyone, and is using what he learned to elude us now. My proposal is to have Neal look into that cold case, and to tell us what he learns. Then we can apply that knowledge to the Robert Winslow case." She turned to Neal. "In return, you have to promise to turn all leads over to us if there's any chance that they'll point us to Robert. You are absolutely not to look for Robert, and if you have any reason to think you've uncovered his location, you let us know immediately, understood?"

"I got it."

Peter studied Neal. "You really don't know how Henry stayed under the radar all that time?"

Neal shrugged. "He taught me a lot of what he learned, but not how he learned all of it."

Peter didn't like this, and he started looking for ways to poke holes in Tricia's plan. "I don't suppose Henry was hiding in New York all that time? You know how tight the travel budget is."

"He probably wasn't in New York, but Tricia already warned me I'd need to do most of my research from the office. I'm already scheduled to take Friday off and travel to Seattle for Angela's birthday. I can change my flights, make a few layovers, and not charge the FBI a dime for airfare or hotels. All I ask is to let me come back a few days later than planned, without burning vacation time since I'll be working on a cold case. I'll check in with Tricia while I'm away," he promised. "You'll always know what's going on."

"Tricia's going on vacation," Peter protested.

"It's part of _my _goals," she said. "I'm willing to make the time for this. I can talk to Neal from the beach. And if I don't answer, he'll call you with his questions and progress reports." Her phone beeped and she scrolled through a text message. "Sorry, it's the daycare. My youngest isn't feeling well. I need to call them." She stepped out of the conference room and ducked down the corridor leading to the smaller meeting rooms. It was standard practice when someone wanted privacy for a call.

Before Peter could tell Neal to forget working this case, Barbara - Hughes' secretary - walked in. "Agent Burke? The budget meeting has moved up. Can you join them? It's in the same room as before."

"Yeah, sure." Peter managed not to swear at this untimely interruption as he stood up to gather the budget reports and laptop from his office. "Neal, we're not done talking about this."

Neal managed to look appropriately serious as he stood and returned to his desk, but Peter saw the light in his eyes. The kid thought he was going to get away with this.

Peter stepped into the room reserved for the budget meetings, but the only person there was Tricia. "Sorry for the subterfuge," she said. "I called Barbara from the parking garage this morning and asked her to pull you into a budget meeting when I left the morning briefing."

"Are you out of your mind?" Peter asked as he took the seat across the table from Tricia. "There's no way Neal is going to limit himself to a cold case from the last decade. He's going to look for Henry in the here-and-now, and that's going to lead him toward Robert."

"I know. Just like I know that his plea to me yesterday was part of a con. You have a brother, right?"

Peter took a deep breath at this sudden turn. He'd been prepared to chastise Tricia for letting Neal get involved in something dangerous, and now it seemed she was ahead of both of them. "Yeah. Joe. He's about ten years older than me."

"Maybe that's the difference, then. Both of mine are younger. And both were astoundingly stubborn at Neal's age. There was no reasoning with them. They drove our parents crazy. Being closer to their age I had better luck getting through to them, and I learned the best way to deal with them was to let them think I was going along with them. Sometimes I could start to steer them in another direction. Sometimes I couldn't but at least I was on hand to help them when they crashed."

"You're telling me the answer is to let Neal do whatever the hell he wants?"

"I think we both know that there's no stopping Neal from looking for Henry. We can call it a case and exert a level of control that way, or we can forbid him to do it and then fire him when he disobeys a direct order." She paused while Peter took that in. "If you've decided he needs to leave the Bureau, then tell me and I'll get out of the way. But I have to say I think that would be a poor decision. I've grown to respect his skills and… I like him, Peter. I see how we can be good for him, and how he can be good for White Collar. I want a way to keep him, and I think this is our best shot."

As much as Peter wanted to say no, he could see the sense in what Tricia was saying. "I need to think this over."

"Of course. I had all night to work through it. You need to catch up. I'm going to start working with Neal, and find out as much as I can about his plan while making suggestions to keep him safe. When your 'budget meeting' is over, pull him aside to tell him you won't let him work the case."

"It's a foregone conclusion that I'm going to say _no_? Then why bother working with him while I think it over?"

Tricia grinned. "Because while I'm the encouraging big sister in this scenario, you're the dad. It's your job to say _no_. Anything else would be out of character. Then he'll try to persuade you. If you really want him to think we aren't on to him, you have to let him believe he's conned you. We don't want him to think I persuaded you. As far as he knows, this conversation never took place because I fell for his arguments yesterday."

Peter leaned back in his chair, seeing his second-in-command in a new light. "Did your brothers ever figure out you were playing them?"

"Sometimes I would let them know, to make sure they remember I'm smarter than they are. I'm waiting until they have kids of their own before I share the full extent of my genius."

"Neal's pretty smart himself," Peter warned.

"That's why I'll let him think I fell for most of the con, but not all of it. I want him to realize he has to stay on his toes around me, and that the best way to manage me is to let me in on at least part of what he's doing."

"I make it a point not to criticize FBI leadership in the office, but I have to make an exception today. They were idiots not to put you in charge of Missing Persons. And I'm finally starting to realize how lucky I am to have you on my team."

"Thanks, Peter, that's…" She trailed off and stared at the floor a moment before continuing. "I did everything I could to be professional after Rice got the job, but I'll admit I was bitter about it. You've done a lot to restore my faith in the Bureau. That's one of the reasons the mentoring goal is important to me. I want to help others on the team keep their faith in law and order, and if anyone needs help in that area, it's Neal. He needs to see that he can solve problems, like finding his cousin, _inside _the system instead of circumventing us."

Peter nodded, and kept thinking about her words after she left. Hadn't that been the whole point of recruiting Neal, to show him the good he could achieve on the right side of the law? How could he keep Neal on the straight and narrow if he forced the kid to be an outlaw? Tricia was right; Neal would go outside the law to find Henry if the FBI told him not to help his family.

He tried to imagine that Joe was the one who'd gone missing. Would he really stand aside because FBI policy told him not to get involved in a case involving family? Officially, he might, but he was certain Hughes and others would unofficially keep him in the loop, rather than let him go rogue.

How much harder was it for Neal? To start, he didn't trust the FBI the way Peter did. Even worse, no one was treating Henry's disappearance as a case because they were all certain he'd reappear when Robert was located. But who knew what kind of trouble Henry was getting into, with no one to curb the desperate instincts of a reckless young man? If he found Robert at the same time the FBI did, he might act rashly, making things worse. They might lose Robert again, or perhaps have to kill him rather than arrest him if Henry threw them off their game.

Suppose he let Neal look for Henry. Suppose he found his cousin. Henry would try to convince Neal to let him continue on his path. He might even try to convince Neal to join him. If Neal found his loyalties divided between the FBI and his best friend, what choice would he make?

If Tricia was right, they couldn't keep Neal from going after Henry, and their best hope was to be the angel on Neal's shoulder, influencing him all along the way.

Peter checked his watch, surprised to see that more than an hour had passed. Time to confront Neal.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Umm, Neal?" Tricia directed Neal's attention upstairs, where Peter stood in front of his office. He was giving Neal the double finger-point. "I think it's time for me to work with Jones for a while."

Neal nodded and headed into Peter's office. He took a seat while Peter closed the door. "How was the budget meeting?"

"Torturous. Made all the worse by worrying about this case."

Neal opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when Peter held up a hand.

"Remember when you told me that Michael Darling needed the FBI's help?"

Neal nodded. It was the first case he'd worked with Peter, the first case he'd brought to the FBI. Half the challenge had been convincing Peter there was a case at all.

"My initial reaction was to tell you to forget it. It didn't sound like much of a case, and it wasn't in our jurisdiction."

"But instead you told me to prove he needed our help. And I did," Neal reminded him. "And then we found out who was threatening him."

Peter leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "It still wasn't much of a case. But I encouraged you because your interest in it was a good sign. It meant you wanted to do the job. Getting a taste of casework – solving puzzles, chasing down an answer – it was good for you. I wanted you to see for yourself that you belong here."

"Swapping an addiction," Neal said.

"Huh?"

"Something Byron said. He told me I was addicted to the cons. And he said working for the FBI let me exchange an illegal addiction to a legal one. That's what was happening on that first case. You gave me a taste of something new."

Peter looked taken aback. "I don't care for an analogy that makes me into a drug dealer, Neal. And if you're going to accuse me of sending you into withdrawal because I won't let you work the case of your choice, this conversation ends right now."

As much as Neal regretted offending Peter, it did serve the purpose of putting distance between himself and the boss. Hughes should be happy. "Sorry, I got sidetracked. What was your point about that first case?"

"Having an interest in a case is always a good sign. In normal circumstances it's something I want to encourage. But some cases… Part of my job is steering you away from cases that could damage your career. This is one of those cases, Neal. You don't have the objectivity to take it on."

Neal relaxed, although he didn't let it show in his posture. "That's where Tricia comes in. She brings the objectivity. I bring the inside knowledge about Henry. Together we're the perfect team for this case. Really, is it all that different from our first case? I was a big fan of Michael Darling's music, but that didn't stop me from solving the case. It worked out because you were with me, teaching me the FBI procedures and balancing me out."

"It's not the same thing. If you find Henry, he could ask you to do things, or to ignore things, that would jeopardize your position here. And because you think of him as a big brother, you'd be tempted to go along. You might even feel obligated. At least Michael wasn't going to lure you away from the FBI."

It was tempting to tell Peter that Michael had offered him another job, or at least a job lead, but that would take the conversation in a direction he didn't want to go. "Like I said, that's where Tricia comes in. The thing is…" He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "I'm no expert on this HR stuff, Peter, but I know people. And I think Tricia needs this case as much as I do. Maybe more."

Peter leaned back and laughed. "Tricia needs a vacation, and she's about to take one. What makes you think she needs to have this case on her hands when she's supposed to be relaxing?"

"She wanted that lead role at Missing Persons, more than she lets on. It's great that you treat her as a senior member of the team, but it doesn't make up for what she nearly had. This mentoring stuff, it's the closest she can get to being a manager, and you've kept her too busy being just another agent –"

"Senior agent," Peter interrupted.

"Too busy being a senior agent," Neal acknowledged, "to have any time for that. Sure, she came to White Collar to get away from Rice, but also because she expected you'd treat her with more respect than Rice would. You've gotta acknowledge that she has management potential, or you're dashing her dreams again."

"Are you telling me… You think she'd quit if I don't let her mentor you through this case?"

Neal leaned forward, going in for the kill. "Are you certain this vacation is just a trip to the beach? Are you certain those half days she took recently were really because her kids were sick? I'm no expert, but how often do kids get colds and sinus infections in June?"

"You think she's interviewing for another job." Peter frowned.

"I think she's feeling a twinge of guilt about it, and she's giving you one last chance to show her that you value her full skill set. Honestly, Peter, does she have a long-term career at the FBI that includes moving to your level someday? If not, tell us we can't work this case and she can quit with a clean conscience."

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose Tricia." He looked directly into Neal's eyes. "And I don't want to lose you, either."

Neal hadn't expected that. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah. None of that impassioned argument about not driving Tricia away was fueled by your own frustration with the Bureau? You think I don't know how tempting it must be to walk if I don't let you look for Henry? I've considered how I'd feel in your shoes, and what the Bureau would need to do to rein me in."

Neal couldn't help being curious. It was so hard to think of Peter as rebellious. "What would they need to do?"

"They'd have to keep me informed, show me they were doing everything possible and making progress. And if I had relevant information, they'd have to listen to me and act on that information. If I didn't believe they would do that, that they would take the case seriously and show me that level of respect, I couldn't continue working for the Bureau. So I get it, Neal. I understand why you can't let this case go. But you need to understand my position, too. I need you to show me and the Bureau the same level of trust and respect that you're asking of us. Full disclosure, Neal. You keep Tricia and me aware of all your plans and all your findings. If we ask you to put a halt to what you're doing while we strategize, you follow our orders. We do this as a team. Don't go lone wolf on us. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," Neal said.

He went back to his desk and worked with Tricia on his plans. And in the evening he went running in a local park. Back in high school, he'd learned that running track was a good way to deal with his flight instinct. Outrunning others helped him achieve a sense of escape. Tonight he ran to decompress from a new stress. Because telling Peter he agreed to the deal was the first time Neal had lied to him.

He kept telling himself that maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe he wouldn't have to hide anything from the FBI. But he didn't really believe that full disclosure was in the cards, not if he stuck to his plan of playing Find the Lady.

_A/N: Masterson Music is not based on a real company, and I'm not an expert on the music industry. _

_See Choirboy Caffrey for the Michael Darling Case. I've posted Neal's audition for Cassie to the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board. _

_Thanks to Silbrith for suggestions for this chapter, and for virtual tea & sympathy when I came down with a cold this week. Thanks everyone for reading and for your encouragement. The next chapter will be posted in a week._


	6. Chapter 6 - Play it Again Sam

**Peter's office. Thursday morning. June 24, 2004.**

Jones knocked on Peter's door minutes before the morning briefing was scheduled to start. "Hey, Neal called. He heard from Marshal Brandel again, and he's gonna be late."

"Who's Marshal Brandel?" Peter asked.

Jones closed the door. "He didn't tell you? Couple days ago he got a call from the Marshals. They wanted to talk about his finances, implied he might be on the take. You know, tied back to the leak about his mother's location."

Peter frowned. "There's been another leak?"

"No. They're still looking into the incident four months ago."

"And they're treating Neal as a suspect? They're either incompetent or there's something incredibly fishy going on."

"Exactly what we thought," Jones agreed.

There were a dozen questions Peter wanted to ask, but the team was gathering in the conference room. He had a meeting to lead.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

This time Annina Brandel didn't call first. She was waiting for Neal outside the mansion, and asked him to walk to Riverside Park with her. He agreed, but took the precaution of calling Jones first so someone would know where he'd gone and who he was with – just in case Annina was working for Robert. She didn't object, waiting patiently for Neal to make the call.

When they reached a bench in a secluded area of the park, Annina asked him to sit down. She sat beside him. "Thanks for agreeing to talk to me again."

"No call or email to schedule this little rendezvous. Not meeting in the Marshals' offices. Are we off the books?" Neal asked.

"Until I figure things out, yeah," Annina said. "After the last time, I requested access to your files and your mother's files. The request was denied because I'm not assigned to any work related to either of your cases."

Neal studied her. "You were removed from the investigation into my finances?"

"I was never on it. There's no evidence that such an investigation was ever opened. The email giving me the order to talk to you vanished, as if it had never been sent. When I talked to my boss, he claimed he had no idea what I was talking about. He seemed completely unfamiliar with your name, much less any assignment to talk to you."

"Any theories about where this phantom assignment came from?"

"Not yet. I had already filed my initial report, although we can't find any trace of that, either. My boss and I decided not to raise any flags. We're going to pretend we aren't suspicious, and if I get a follow-up request we'll try to trace it back to its source. It almost has to be an inside job, so I wanted to warn you."

Neal gazed unseeing at the Hudson River. Her news wasn't a surprise. He'd suspected someone was using the Marshals to get information or to cause trouble, or both. What did surprise him was Annina's willingness to admit the Marshals might be at fault. Was she telling him the truth? Or was she part of the plot, spinning this story to gain his trust? "I appreciate it. Will you keep me informed?"

"As much as I can without letting the culprit realize I'm onto him," she promised.

If she was telling the truth, she could be a useful member of his crew. He opened the door a crack to that possibility with a suggestion. "Sounds like whoever's behind this has serious computer skills. You trying to access those files again could make him or her suspicious – they're probably tracking your activity and hits against data about me. But you can keep working old school."

"More clandestine meetings in the park?" she asked.

"In a sense. There are a couple of people who might be able to help you. Marshal Simon Preston in St. Louis could access the files without raising suspicion, if you can find a reason to talk to him. He helped me establish my post-WITSEC identity and get the birth certificate I needed to work for the FBI. And there's a retired Marshal, Mike something, who was assigned to my family when I was a kid. If you could track him down, he could probably give you a lot of background from memory, because he lived our case for years."

Annina faced him on the park bench, studying his expression. "We got off to a bad start. I wasn't sure you'd even talk to me. And now you trust me enough to help me?"

Neal smiled. "I haven't decided yet. But I trust Simon and Mike. If you can convince them to help you, that will tell me a lot."

She nodded. "It's a test. Exactly the kind of reaction I'd expect from someone who's been in WITSEC. Trust, but verify."

"Words to live by." Neal stood up. It was time to go to work. "And I do want to live, Annina. I'm counting on you to let me know if you find out there's a danger to me or my friends."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal slipped into the conference room minutes before the morning briefing ended. Peter asked him to stay behind to catch up on a few items.

Peter had been standing for the briefing, but as everyone else filed out of the room he took a seat across the table from Neal.

What was going on? The kid kept his eyes trained on a notepad in front of him, rather than look at Peter. He'd called Jones instead of Peter to leave the message that he'd be late. He hadn't mentioned this Marshal Brandel.

Instead of leaving with the others, Jones stood beside the table. When the other agents had left he said, "Listen, Peter, I'm the one who dropped the ball here. When you were out on Tuesday, Neal reported his discussion with the Marshal to me, thinking it might be relevant to my case. I told him I agreed that this sounded like something Robert Winslow would instigate. Once I said I'd look into it, it was on me to keep you informed."

Peter nodded. Jones was right, from a procedural perspective. But he was still surprised Neal hadn't said anything to him about it. Neal and secrets went hand-in-hand. He was getting used to that aspect of Neal's personality, but keeping secrets about something like this – keeping him out of the loop with regard to a case – that bucked the recent trend of trust they'd been building.

Maybe he was overreacting. He tried to look at this logically, as an FBI team lead. "Neal, I'm glad you're comfortable taking information directly to the agent working the relevant case. If you'd waited until I returned, Jones would have been working without valuable information for a full day. But as a lesson to both of you, when collaborating on a case with someone, make sure you're clear on who is going to update your boss about any new leads, so that I and everyone else up the chain can provide the support you need."

Jones nodded. "Anything useful from your conversation with Brandel this morning, Neal?"

Neal summarized what he'd learned and then asked, "How many people in the FBI know I was in WITSEC?"

Was this the core issue? Neal felt his secrets were being shared too widely, and that made him reluctant to share more? Neal had selected Peter as the one person in the FBI to know this secret. At least Peter could assure him that the news wasn't being broadcast to the full team. "Jones and Hughes know under the NDA they signed with Win-Win. All Hughes knows is that you were in WITSEC as a child. Jones got more background. None of that is going in your personnel file or the FBI case file."

With a simple "Thanks," Neal gathered his notebook and pen and returned to his desk.

_Give it time_, Peter told himself. It wasn't unusual for victims in a case to feel they were under as much scrutiny as the suspects. If Neal thought his privacy had been a casualty of the Robert Winslow case, he would need the opportunity see for himself that they were respecting his boundaries.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was going to be out of the office Friday through Monday, so Peter asked for a meeting Thursday afternoon with Neal and Tricia to hear what they had planned. "How do you plan to investigate Henry Winslow's disappearance in the late 1990s?" he asked, referring to the cold case that Neal was pretending to investigate. Peter knew Neal would be looking for Henry in the here-and-now, and was curious to learn how Tricia planned to keep him from going overboard.

The first step had been watching Neal make the travel arrangements. Non-refundable flights to Austin Friday morning, to Seattle Saturday morning, and then to Las Vegas Sunday afternoon.

"No hotel in Austin?" Peter noted, looking at the itinerary.

"I'm going to crash with old friends of Henry's from his college days. Gives me a chance to look for signs he's been hanging around."

That didn't add up. Neal was 25, and his cousin was a few months away from turning 28. "Wouldn't all of his college friends have graduated and moved on by now?" Peter asked.

"Not this one," Tricia said. "We spoke with Lawson Hunter, an attorney in Austin who considered himself a mentor of Henry's. He has a daughter Henry's age – not a girlfriend, at least not currently, as she's engaged to be married over the Labor Day weekend – but they clearly think of Henry as family, and they were eager to see Neal again. They wouldn't think of letting him stay in a hotel."

Peter looked up at Neal. "An attorney acting as a mentor for a psychology major? How did that happen?"

Neal shrugged. "Right place, right time." He finally glanced at Peter and seemed to read the impatience on his face. "Shannon – that's Lawson's daughter – was at a water park near the end of the summer break. Henry was working there, and was trying to get the park's management to close down a feature that he thought was dangerous. It was a bungee jump, and he was insisting the rope needed to be replaced. Finally he broke in line ahead of Shannon to take the jump himself and show everyone what he meant. The rope snapped, dumping him in the rapids below. He hit a few rocks, got banged up and nearly drowned. If he hadn't insisted on going ahead of her, it would have been Shannon who went into the water. The Hunter family have been big Henry fans ever since. I think Lawson had a hand in Henry going off the radar while he recovered, and I plan to find out exactly how."

Peter looked to Tricia to see if she had anything to add. "I've checked out Lawson Hunter," she said. "He specializes in contract law, and has no criminal record. He had a son named Shawn who died as an infant. An interview shortly after the incident at the water park had Shannon's grandmother saying that Shawn had often appeared to her in dreams, and she was convinced he had possessed Henry that day in order to save his sister's life. She even claimed Henry might be the reincarnation of Shawn. Interestingly, Henry's name was kept out of the news reports. He didn't have any ID on him when he took his swan dive into the river, and afterward Lawson Hunter – claiming he was acting as Henry's advocate – refused to give the hero's name to the papers. The only reason I know Henry was the rescuer was Lawson's reaction and confirmation when we called him yesterday afternoon."

Neal chuckled. "It's OK, Peter. Neither Henry nor I believe he was possessed. He was just his usual, stubborn self. The Hunter family is eternally grateful to him. Unlike me, they're not known associates of Henry's, at least as far as Robert or even Winston-Winslow are concerned. I need to talk to each of the Hunters about what's going on with Henry now, see their reactions, and convince them to let me know if he contacts them."

"Shawn Hunter," Peter said. "I can't help noticing the coincidence here. You've been referring to a mysterious Shawn since I first recruited you. Usually you imply he's a friend of Henry's. But it's more than that. He uses that name as an alias, doesn't he?"

Neal looked down at the table and took a deep breath. Then he met Peter's eyes. "Yeah, sometimes he goes by that name. Please, don't tell his family. It's a long story. But like I said all along, Shawn is just a mischief-maker, not a criminal."

"I've gotta tell Jones," Peter insisted. "It could be relevant to his search for Robert. But we'll try to keep it out of the files we share with Win-Win."

Neal looked grateful for the concession.

Picking up the itinerary again, Peter said, "I don't see a hotel in Seattle, either."

"My grandparents booked rooms for all of us," Neal said, "at a hotel on the waterfront. It's near the site of Angela's birthday party."

"We'll need to know where you're staying," Peter said. "I want the Seattle branch of the FBI to be aware of your location in case Robert decides to crash the party."

Neal rolled his eyes. "As much as I wish Henry would show up at the party, I know he won't. Robert has to know the same thing. There's no reason to be on the lookout for him."

"Other than the fact that he's been looking for an opportunity to kill you," Peter countered.

Tricia lifted a sheet of paper with handwritten notes on it. "There's no need to argue about this. I already have the information. I spoke with Noelle Winslow this morning. The family is staying at the Edgewater, and the birthday dinner is at Anthony's on Pier 66." She smiled smugly. "And the Las Vegas reservations are at Caesar's Palace. I've set up travel alerts from the airlines, hotels and the TSA; I'll get text messages as Neal checks in for his flights, goes through security, and checks into his hotels. I also have reminders to check manually if the expected alerts don't arrive. I have the phone numbers of the airlines and hotels, and I've given that information to a clerk here who will double check in case I'm out of cell phone range. In addition, Neal will check in with me every 6 hours unless he's on a plane. He should be perfectly safe, Peter."

"You're confident this is a good plan?" Peter asked her.

"It's the best option available to us," Tricia promised.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal didn't crack a smile until he left the Federal Building. Letting Peter figure out that Henry used the Shawn Hunter alias was a calculated risk. It came perilously close to the Shawn Legend alias, but it should satisfy Peter's puzzle-solver instinct. Let him figure something out, while acting unhappy that he got the truth, and then he should back off a while to savor the victory.

Tricia had been relentless about the itinerary, and her planned frequent checks for his safety were a challenge. She'd given him an FBI-issued phone to use on this trip, with GPS, so they could track him down if he didn't call on schedule. He had to respect her dedication and creativity. Fortunately he possessed those same traits.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter waited until he was home to call Agent Tricia Wiese. "What do you think?" he asked. "Did we win that round, or does it go to Neal?"

"I'm going to call it a draw," Tricia said. "I know I slipped in more oversight than he wanted. We'll keep him safe from Robert, and keep reminding him he's responsible to the FBI. On the other hand he was very sketchy about his plans in Las Vegas."

"I agree. Identifying Henry's alias was a win, but I can't help feeling Neal purposely tipped his cards to distract us from something else. Check with Jones in the morning. Have him track down any records of Shawn Hunter that point to Henry using that alias, in the 90s and now. You follow up on the Las Vegas angle. Neal once told me he had been arrested in Vegas, after being mistaken for Henry. I want to dig deeper. Look into exactly when it happened, what were the charges, who bailed him out, and anything else that tells us why Neal wants to return to the scene of the crime."

"I'm on it," Tricia promised. "Jones and I will get a report to you before I leave on my vacation."

They ended the call and Peter absently petted Satchmo. He hoped Tricia was right in her assumption that the frequent checks and contact would keep Neal on the right side of the law.

Trying to stay on the positive side, Peter reminded himself that Neal could be safer traveling. For the last several months, Peter had frequently asked Neal to stick to a simple, known schedule and routes so that they could have agents assigned on a regular basis to be in his vicinity in case Robert made another attempt on his life. That had to be boring for someone like Neal, and the predictability of his schedule that made him easier to protect also made it easier for Robert to anticipate where Neal would be and when. Neal heading out of town like this, with his last-minute schedule changes, might throw Robert off his game.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Some days called for a release valve, and Neal knew exactly where to turn. Randy Weston's music shop sponsored amateur night at the neighboring bar on Thursdays. It would be an excellent chance to get in more practice. Neal had used the mansion's music room when he could, aware that the upcoming Masterson con required him to keep up his skills, but that focused on the technical aspect. The actual performance to an audience was important to practice, too. Neal took a chance and called on his way home from work, and Randy promised to fit him in. He stopped by his apartment long enough to change into more casual clothes and to pick up his guitar, and made it to the bar with time to eat before the singers needed to set up.

Singing to a live audience was a great way to channel his frustrations. Henry had taught him that anger, sorrow and regret could all be poured into songs, and the audience responded with excitement and pleasure to fill the space he'd purged of excess emotions. He supposed it was similar to the adrenaline rush of a con or a heist. Or an undercover op, now that he worked for the FBI. But in the end the rush of musical performances didn't satisfy him the way his art did, and that's how he knew art was what he needed to study at Columbia, while music would remain a hobby.

Neal sang two songs in the first rotation, playing his guitar and singing backup for the other three singers who were with him. Then he hung out at the bar to listen to the second rotation. Randy sat beside him and ordered a beer. He was an African-American man in his mid-fifties. "Been a while," Randy commented.

Neal nodded. It had been nearly two months since he'd been around. He'd stopped showing up when he'd started cramming for his entrance exams. "Aren't you usually in your shop for these things?" Typically Randy sent a group to sing rock in the bar, and lined up other singers for pop songs in his store. He served beer and wine to customers during these events, encouraging those who dropped in to buy their own instruments in the hopes of sounding as good as the people he had lined up to perform.

"Sam's running it tonight. Says I get in the way."

Neal hadn't met Randy's daughter Samantha, but recalled a few remarks from Henry. Sam was another musician who signed with Masterson and then had her dreams crushed. Henry said she'd try to kill herself. "She doing OK?" he asked Randy. He'd like to include Randy in his crew, but not if it made things harder for Sam.

"You heard she overdosed? Scariest time of my life. The last year she's been living with her grandparents, takin' things at a slower pace while she detoxed. She's in business school, now. Started this summer. At first she didn't want anything to do with music, said she couldn't face it knowing she couldn't even try to make a living performing for five years. But a couple of weeks back she asked to work in the store again. Calls it her fix. Worries me a bit, since she's got addiction issues, but she tells me this is a good fix."

Neal thought about Sam's situation. "I know what she means. You ever consider offering music lessons through the shop? That might win you some customers tempted by an instrument they don't know how to play."

"Yeah, Sam's talking about that."

"A music expert with a business degree sounds like a rare combination. She might be able to find work outside your store. Maybe at a recording studio?" Neal wondered if Theo Guy could use help managing the studio. "No promises, but I could ask around and let you know if anyone needs an intern or some kind of assistant."

Randy looked surprised. "You got those kind of contacts, and you aren't going pro?"

"I considered it when I was a kid."

Randy chuckled. "You're still a kid, hotshot."

"Speaking of people who should go pro, I haven't seen Shawn Legend in a long time."

"He drops in every few weeks," Randy said. "Back around the start of the year he said he'd send you my way. He's been in, maybe monthly since then, looking at my guitars. I got one I'm holding for him in the back room. He put down the deposit in March, and keeps telling me he's almost got the rest."

Interesting. Henry Winslow came from a wealthy family. Even though Randy stocked several very expensive guitars, Henry could have put any one of them on a credit card and not hit his limit. "You think he'd mind if I took a look at it?" Neal asked.

He talked Randy into it, and when he was alone with the guitar in the back of the shop Neal examined the instrument and the case. The interior of the case was lined with fabric, and Neal found a slit in the seam. He pulled out a business card for Stan Masterson. On the back, scrawled in Henry's handwriting, was a phone number and the words "in case of emergency." Neal programmed the number into his phone. Then he put the guitar back in its case and went back into the main shop area to thank Randy. "If you see Shawn again, will you tell him his brother needs to talk to him? It's important."

Randy nodded, and Neal left suspecting that the shop owner had already been recruited to Henry's crew. Maybe he'd join Neal's team, if Neal came through with a job for Sam. With that thought in mind, he called Theo Guy. Theo was wrapping up a recording session and couldn't talk long, but said he'd consider the idea of an assistant. "There's plenty of work," Theo said. "I just gotta figure out if I can afford to hire anyone yet."

Moments after Theo hung up, he called Neal back. "Hey, I was supposed to get a social security number from you the other night."

Neal had intended to give Shawn Hunter's SSN. The Hunters had filed for the number the day their son was born. They should have filed another set of paperwork when the boy died two weeks later, but Mrs. Hunter couldn't handle it. Emotions were running high and she asked her husband not to erase Shawn's existence so soon. Years went by and they'd never gotten around to providing the death certificate to the agency that would release the number. As a result, Henry had been able to step into an alternate identity that could stand up to government scrutiny and mystify Win-Win. By using that SSN, Neal could collect payment and not have the transaction tracked to him, protecting his Neal Legend identity from any legal association with Neal Caffrey.

But now Peter was aware of Shawn Hunter. He'd probably have an agent look up everything the FBI could find about that alias, and that would include tax and revenue records. Connections between Shawn Hunter and Neal Legend needed to be avoided.

Well, it wasn't a lot of money. Not compared to what he needed for tuition. "Tell you what. Give it to the cancer research charity again."

"You got it," said Theo, and he was gone.

Mozzie called as Neal was in sight of the mansion. "I got your message. I was working a job in Boston, but I got back in town an hour ago. You still need my expertise?"

"Yeah. You bring a secure laptop, and I'll provide the wine. It's time to spin a conspiracy theory, and I want the best."

"I'm on my way," Mozzie promised.

_A/N: This is the first time in the AU that we've encountered a character who has attempted suicide. If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, Cornwankies from the AO3 site recommended a great essay that offers encouragement to keep holding on. Search "Matt Fraction suicide letter" to read it._

_My usual thanks to amazing beta reader Silbrith, who continues to provide inspiration for future chapters and future stories. I hope you're reading her Woman in Blue which is part of this Caffrey Conversation AU; she posts new chapters on Tuesdays and Saturdays._

_The next chapter in my story is titled Ghost Stories. It features a fun scene with Mozzie, and memories of Neal's life in the weeks after he ran away from home._


	7. Chapter 7 - Ghost Stories

**Riverside Drive. Thursday night. June 24, 2004.**

When Neal stepped inside the mansion, he saw June at the piano. She seemed to be humming, lost in a memory, and Neal hesitated. As long as he was going to take Mozzie into his confidence, should he include his landlady, too? She had a lot of contacts, and could be formidable when she wasn't consumed with sorrow. She'd mentioned a need to be left alone to work through her grief, and he understood that. But she couldn't spend every moment grieving, either.

"June?"

She looked up. "Neal, I didn't hear you come in. Did you need anything?"

"Mozzie's coming over soon. I asked for his help on a… on a case," he said, still wanting to call it a con. "It might be something you're interested in. It involves music. Do you want to join us?"

For a moment he thought she was going to say agree, but then she shook her head. "Thank you, Neal, but not tonight."

"Let me know if you change your mind. This case is gonna to take a while." He took a step toward the staircase and then paused. "I'm traveling for this one. I'm leaving town tomorrow morning and won't get back till Monday night. And there may be more trips after that. Are you gonna be OK?"

June walked to him, taking his hands. "You're very sweet. I'll be fine." She kissed his cheek and then walked away.

About half an hour later, Neal let Mozzie into his apartment. Mozzie made a show of checking for bugs, then made an equal show of tasting and approving the wine Neal had selected. Then he finally opened his laptop. "You mentioned a conspiracy. Do you need a suggestion? Because I've been looking for the right forum to announce that the NSA is dabbling in quantum computers in order to track us and hack us even more –"

"No," Neal interrupted. "I already have a conspiracy in mind." His own laptop was open and he showed Mozzie an entry in Cassie Blanca's blog, describing her meeting with Neal Legend. She mentioned the way he had disappeared, and the rumors that he was dead.

She'd wrapped up with, "Was it a ghost? Let me know if you've heard of any recent Neal Legend sightings."

"Interesting," Mozzie said. "We don't normally delve into the paranormal, but I have my own theories about ghosts." Already he was running a search. "This Urban Legend group is perfect for spinning a conspiracy. Almost no photos of them posted online. The few out there tend to be too blurry to make a good identification. You know, I predict within a year we'll have video-sharing sites that will make this type of anonymity the thing of the past for a group like Urban Legend. Hundreds of people will post footage of concerts and performances and be able to search on keywords that –"

"Yeah, well you're stuck in 2004, Mozz. Henry had a con in mind to make Urban Legend big news. It starts with the split between Shawn and Grace, and then moves into speculation about the group and their former member, all leading to a single goal. He wants to get the attention of Masterson Music, so they'll offer Urban Legend a contract. That gives us insiders who can get the information we need to bring the company's corruption to light." Neal refilled Mozzie's glass and sat down. "It involves a lot of performances and sightings to feed interest and get press. And that's gonna take a long time. But if we had someone computer savvy on our crew, someone with multiple online identities to keep Urban Legend a topic on blogs and music forums, things could move a lot faster. What Cassie posted is exactly what we wanted. I'm looking for you to pick up from there weaving a conspiracy that she and others like her won't be able to resist. Keep them talking, until Masterson can't help hearing."

Mozzie was already running more searches. "Masterson Music are bottom feeders. It would be a pleasure to bring their slimy practices to light." He sipped more wine. "This Urban Legend group is fascinating. These are obviously stage names, and the members' real names are carefully hidden. That could be an interesting twist in the conspiracy."

"No, Mozz," Neal insisted. "Stick to whether the band members will reunite, and the competitiveness between them. Don't send anyone on a hunt for their real identities."

"Fine, fine," Mozz said. "I'll leave that out, but I'm sure I can find out who they are."

"Don't waste your time. I can tell you who they are."

"Shh. I don't want to be influenced by your guess."

"It's not a guess. I've met them."

"No!" Mozzie insisted. "There are any number of means available to confuse you on that score. Your mind and senses can be misled by drugs, optical illusions, hypnotism… The list goes on. I have to be certain who we're dealing with before I spin a conspiracy around them."

"You've got to be kidding me." Neal shook his head and took away Mozzie's wine glass. He interrupted his friend's protests with, "I'll return it after you listen to me. Henry created Urban Legend years ago. He's Shawn Legend. Angela is Grace, and I'm the ghost. We don't want anyone to know we're the members. That's why I brought this to you instead of to the FBI IT department. I need to have information posted about the group, without it being traced back to me or my cousins."

Mozzie didn't pout, but he did seem to be deflated. "I don't suppose there's any chance that Shawn Legend is the love child of John Lennon?"

"We wouldn't have to worry about Robert in that case. Unfortunately, no. Shawn is Henry, and Henry's really a Winslow." Neal returned the wine glass. "Make it a great conspiracy, Mozz, but don't draw the attention of Robert, Win-Win or the FBI."

"I would have discovered their identities on my own," Mozz muttered.

"I've had to be very careful to keep you from figuring it out," Neal said to mollify his friend. Soon Mozz was absorbed in the online world, and Neal packed for his trip. He'd be catching the red-eye to Austin in the morning. When he got tired, he dimmed the lights in the apartment and went to bed, knowing his friend would come out of his computer trance in his own sweet time.

He should have guessed that his mind would drift to the party that followed the first concert he'd seen Shawn Legend perform in. It seemed inevitable, now that he thought about it. This afternoon he'd talked to Peter about addictions, then in the evening Randy had mentioned Sam's experiences with overdosing, and even Mozzie had referred to drugs.

The band that had hired Henry invited them to a party at the home of a friend. Neal was never really clear who was the host, or how the host knew the band. The house was filled with so many people it was getting hard to breathe. There was music, and dim lights, and alcohol, and then someone offered something to Henry. Neal couldn't hear what they said to him, or what Henry said in return, but he could figure out what was going on. He grabbed Henry's arm and kept pulling until they were both outside.

"Was that cocaine?" Neal asked, keeping his voice low so they wouldn't be heard as more guests arrived.

Henry shrugged. "That's what he said."

"And you were going to take it?" Neal still spoke softly, but couldn't hide his anger.

"Did you want some?" Henry asked flippantly. "I wasn't going to hog it all. You just had to ask."

"You… That's it. I'm out of here." Neal started walking to Henry's car.

"What are you gonna do?" Henry asked, following.

"I'm grabbing my stuff and then I'll hitch a ride."

"Hitch a ride where?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. Away from you. I spent my childhood dealing with an addict. In and out of rehab. All the promises she couldn't keep about staying clean. I'm not going back to that."

Henry ran ahead of Neal, sat on the hood of his car, and tossed his keys up in the air, snatching them before Neal could grab them. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd never tell me about it."

"I'm not telling you."

Henry dangled the keys. "You are if you want your stuff."

"I'll just break a window."

"Oh, come on. That's just lame. Tell me about it, and I'll show you how to get into this car any time you want."

Neal eyed him warily. "You mean like break in?

"That's one way. Or you could pick my pocket and take the keys."

"You can teach me that?"

"Mmm. Not in one night, but yeah, I can teach you that."

"How'd you learn?"

Henry leaned back against the windshield. "My dad taught me. He was a cop when I was a kid. He wanted me to learn stuff like that, you know, tricks of criminals, so that I could be a good cop someday."

Neal tried to imagine Henry as a cop, but couldn't see it. He would like to learn the things Henry had described. Those skills could come in handy, especially if he was on his own. He didn't really want to be alone, but some things were a deal-breaker. "I'm not sticking around if you do drugs."

"Yeah, I get that. Listen, filling in for band members is part of how I get by. I like to know who's into drugs, and then see whether they have a serious enough habit that I should practice to fill in for them."

"You weren't going to take the coke?" Neal asked.

Henry sighed. "I'm gonna be honest with you. I can't tell you I've never tried it. But tonight I was looking for a reaction, hoping you'd finally admit your mom was an alcoholic."

"How'd you know?"

"You said some stuff in the hospital when your fever was bad."

Neal felt a moment of blind panic as he flashed back to some of the things he'd remembered and said under the influence of that fever and the medications he'd been given. "That wasn't real."

He blinked to see Henry standing in front of him. "Enough of it was. Come on. We can talk about it at the hotel. We're getting room service tonight." He held up a hotel key card. "Lifted it off the lead singer. He's already passed out on the couch in there. Someone might as well use his room."

Then Neal transitioned from remembering to dreaming. Duelling nightmares chased him until he woke with a start when his alarm clock sounded.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie was gone, but he'd left notes that Neal reviewed while drinking coffee. The first set grouped sites by target audiences: musicians, music industry execs, radio DJs & producers, music critics, and music fans. The next set of notes outlined a strategy for engaging each of those groups. Neal visited some of the sites and saw Mozz had put the first stage of his plan in motion. In some cases he'd posted comments about Urban Legend or their members. In other cases he'd been more cryptic, referring more generically to urban legends and ghost stories. And in one case he'd hacked the advertising feed on a site, replacing an ad with the words "The best Urban Legends are Ghost Stories" over an image of "The Scream." It looked like an album cover, and would lead to speculation about whose album it was and when it would be released.

The last notes from Mozzie were the ID and password to access a site he'd called Urban Legend Analytics, where Neal could find counts of how many people had seen the items Mozzie had posted, how many had followed links to the Urban Legend or Urban Chaos sites, and how many people had posted related comments on any of the sites. Neal didn't have time to look at the metrics now, and didn't expect much traffic yet, but he memorized the credentials so he could check the results later.

He called Mozzie as he locked the door to his apartment and headed downstairs. "Thanks, man," Neal said. "I was afraid you'd go over the top, but that showed real finesse."

"The best conspiracies, like urban legends, sneak up on you," Mozzie said. "They don't hit you over the head. Not at first, anyway. Right now I'm looking into Masterson. They've been dodging some bad press about their staff. There's a DUI and an assault and battery, all swept under the carpet. The worst was someone using the company's distribution channels for CDs to ship child porn."

"Ugh."

"When you're closer to making your move, let me know and I'll shed a light on these. They'll be eager to move the spotlight to signing a contract with an exciting new group."

"Good thinking. We'll also need more content for the Urban Legend site," Neal said, "something to keep people coming back to see what's new." He put down his luggage at the front steps to lock the mansion's gate behind him.

"Let me know when one of you is going to do something newsworthy. And a recording of some performances would be good. Not many people have actually heard Urban Legend's songs."

"Yeah, I'm working on that." A town car driver had walked up and nodded at Neal, who gestured his approval for the driver to take the luggage. Neal walked toward the open door of the backseat. "I should have something for you in a few days on both fronts. Do you need a specific file format? There are some archives I can…" He slid into the backseat, saw Peter, and said, "I'll call you back," as he ended the call. He slid the phone into his pocket. "This is a surprise."

"Consider this your first check in," Peter said. "And your first warning. Next time confirm your driver's identity, and check the car is from the company your reservation indicated. I could easily have been Robert."

Neal nodded. Being settled into a home and a job at the FBI, he felt safe. Safer than he'd felt in years. He'd grown complacent. "Good point."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter looked at Neal with concern. The kid looked pale, and not particularly rested. Not good when heading out on a potentially risky job. He was staring out the window as they headed to the airport, but Peter would guess his mind wasn't on the scenery. "Tell me what's wrong," Peter said.

Neal looked startled. He glanced at Peter and then resumed staring out the window. "I'm fine."

"You're jumpy. Not what we want right now. Tell me, or I'm grounding you."

"Excuse me?"

"No flying out of town until I'm convinced you're steady enough to handle this assignment."

"So you're… you're saying that as a boss, not as…"

Peter floundered a moment, and then recalled being grounded as a punishment from his parents. "Oh. Grounding. Yeah, as in a boss clipping your wings."

Neal nodded. He leaned back, rubbed his face, and then started talking. "When I was in the hospital and figured out I'd been given a massive overdose of Flashback, my biggest fear was that I'd be hooked on it. It's a fairly new drug, not a lot known about the effects of high doses yet. After taking so much care not to mess around with any addictive substances, I thought maybe I'd had an addiction forced on me. And maybe I'd be just as weak as my mother, never able to break free." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, I had a nightmare about that last night."

"You weren't addicted, though," Peter said.

"No. Just a passing fear."

"Have you talked to Noelle about it?"

Neal shook his head. "By the time I got out of the hospital, I wasn't worried about it anymore. I haven't thought about it again, not until last night."

Why last night? Peter wondered. What had triggered this fear? The first thing that came to mind was that they were digging around into Neal's past now. "They say most teens experiment with drugs at some point."

"I didn't." Neal said. "I was too determined not to end up like my mom."

That left one other option. "What about Henry?"

"He didn't do anything, not when I was with him. That was part of our deal. If he'd broken the deal, I'd have left."

"And before he found you in Chicago?" Silence greeted that question, confirming Peter's suspicion that Henry did have a history with drugs and that Neal knew about it. "Are you afraid he'll do something like that again?"

"He knows better," Neal said, but he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "He knows he needs to be on top of his game now if he's going to stay a step ahead of Robert."

Peter knew plenty of examples of people who turned to cocaine and other drugs in the belief that those drugs would make them sharper. No wonder Neal was worried. And it was a worry he wouldn't take to Noelle because it involved her son. "Is there any way to get a message to him, to remind him of your deal?"

"No," Neal responded immediately. "He's ditched his phone, won't answer email. He's gone off the grid. If I had a way to communicate with him, I'd already…" He trailed off. "Mozzie."

"Your expert on off the grid. You think he's helping Henry?"

"No. But I think Mozz can help me get a message to someone who's gone off the grid. And he's obsessive enough to make it a message Henry can't ignore."

Peter had mixed feelings about this. Neal looked much more positive now, which was good. But Mozzie's distrust of the FBI and his own criminal endeavors were influences Peter would prefer Neal avoid. "Let's think this over. What's Mozzie going to ask in return for this help? I'm not having you aiding and abetting a known felon."

Neal grinned. "He takes great pride in being an unknown felon. Anyway, he's currently wrapped up in his latest conspiracy theory. That's something I can safely help with."

"Nothing illegal," Peter cautioned.

"I might need to look up the legal definition of stalking," Neal said, "if he decides to get closer to his latest source of corrupt, capitalist power-mongering. Otherwise I think we're safe."

Peter wasn't convinced that anything involving Mozzie was safe, but they were approaching the airport and there were other things he needed to say. "Remember to check in with Tricia frequently. Play it safe. Call us if there's any sign of Robert. We might not be there with you, but you're still part of a team."

"Yeah, yeah," Neal muttered as he climbed out of the back seat.

"Nothing stupid!" Peter insisted as Neal picked up his luggage.

The kid turned toward him with the mischievous expression Peter associated with comments like "_you're such a dad"_ but this time Neal simply frowned and walked away.

On the ride back to the Federal Building, Peter fretted about this latest odd behavior. Was this simply his enigmatic consultant needing space, or was there something more serious going on?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The early start and worries about Henry had taken a toll on Neal, and trying not to treat Peter like a dad had added to the stress. Almost as soon as the flight took off he was lost in memories, picking up where he had left off the night before: taking advantage of an unused hotel room the night he learned Henry was Shawn Legend.

There was only one bed in the singer's hotel room, so they'd flipped a coin. Neal got the bed and Henry took the floor. Neal suspected Henry rigged the coin toss, because it seemed like Neal almost always got the bed in these scenarios. He added it to the list of mysteries surrounding his cousin: how did he control the outcome of the coin toss, and why?

Neal had been out of the hospital almost six weeks now. He tried to hide how easily he got tired, but sometimes it wasn't possible. Tonight he fell asleep as they were watching a movie. One minute both cousins were sitting on the bed, surrounded by ice cream and other snacks delivered by room service, and the next thing he knew he was lying down, the blankets pulled over him, and the bed cleared of the plates and napkins that had littered the space earlier. The lights and TV were off and there was a hint of daylight where the curtains met. Henry was sprawled on the floor with a pillow and extra blanket.

A glance at the clock told him it was early, barely sunrise. He should be quiet. He should let Henry sleep. And he tried to hold it back, he really did. But that seemed to make it worse. The more he tried to muffle the coughs, the more they demanded to be heard. Finally it broke through and he was coughing so hard he didn't know if he could stop. And then Henry was there, helping him move into a position that made it easier to breathe, offering water and a cough drop. When Neal started to relax, Henry examined the coffee maker and packets on the bureau, and returned minutes later with a hot cup of tea.

"Breathe it," he suggested. "The steam's better than the taste."

The steam did help, and sipping the hot liquid was more soothing than he'd expected, even if he wasn't a big fan of chamomile.

Henry sat on the bed, closely observing Neal's recovery. "It was probably the smoke," he said as Neal continued drinking the tea and breathing carefully. "At the concert, there was a lot of smoke when they set off the fireworks. And then people were smoking at the party."

Neal nodded.

"You could have told me, you know."

Neal simply stared at him. He hadn't wanted to admit a weakness, afraid that Henry would leave him behind, leave him alone, if he couldn't keep up.

Even though Neal didn't express those fears out loud, Henry seemed to get it. "You're family, Neal. We work this stuff out together." And then Henry told a story about his own brush with pneumonia. And about learning he wasn't as recovered as he'd thought. The story fascinated Neal, distracting him so that he relaxed and breathed normally again. "I finally agreed to physical therapy," Henry said. "That's what you need now. Let's get a move on. Pack your stuff, and we'll go to Austin and convince Miranda to take on another patient."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As the plane landed in Austin, Neal realized that as a teenager he had wanted to believe his cousin was the heroic, all-conquering figure he claimed to be. But now he needed the truth. When Shannon Hunter and her fiancé met Neal at the airport, he asked for her version of the story.

They were waiting for his flight's luggage to arrive, and Shannon sat down and fanned herself. "It always gets so hot in here."

"You OK?" Neal asked. He remembered Shannon as athletic, not someone to be affected by the walk from the parking lot to baggage claim.

Shannon and Jake shared a look of amusement. "The wedding's been postponed three times now. My grandmother has these ridiculous superstitions and keeps insisting we reschedule. I finally had enough. Jake and I moved in together, which got her riled. But worse than that, we got a jumpstart on starting a family. By Labor Day I'll definitely be showing."

"Congratulations," said Neal.

"So I guess as a mother-to-be I should practice my storytelling skills. Let's see. Once upon a time, there was a princess named Shannon who went to a water park with her friends on a hot summer day. They'd dared her to try the bungee jump, and she'd agreed even though she wasn't looking forward to it. She heard a – what shall we call him? She heard a jester in the distance, arguing with the king of the park. Suddenly the jester stepped in front of her in line when it was her turn to jump. She had to pretend to be annoyed, because she didn't want anyone to realize she was relieved. So she called him a jerk."

"Was he a jerk?" Neal asked.

"That's code for he didn't flirt with her," Jake added.

Shannon nodded. "I wasn't wearing those Daisy Dukes for my health. He could have at least ogled. But he barely paid any attention to me. He said it was his birthday, as if that was an excuse for jumping ahead of a princess in line. He put on the safety harness that attached him to the cord and was about to take his jump, but then he turned around and handed me his wallet. Guests at the park would put our stuff in lockers when we arrived, but I guess employees kept their wallets on them if their jobs didn't include going on the rides. Anyway, he asked me to hold on to it for him. I was holding it, staring at him, feeling like an idiot for not protesting, but he had this way about him, like he was used to being in charge. I finally caught my breath enough to ask him his name. And he told me to call him Shawn. Then he jumped."

Jake called their attention to the bags that were finally arriving. Neal jumped up to claim his. Then they waited at the curb while Jake drove his car around. "What happened after Henry jumped?" Neal asked.

"When the cord was fully extended you could see it was fraying. He should have barely skimmed the water, and instead he was dunked in the river. Then he took the first bounce, back up a ways and down again, but this time the cord snapped. My first thought was that he'd be fine. It wasn't that far a fall, and the water was deep enough that he wouldn't break his neck or anything. But we were right beside an area popular with whitewater rafters. He was swept away between boulders and rafts. Someone pulled him onto a raft and made their way to the shore. I'm just staring the whole time, you know? A bunch of us walked along the bridge to get a better view. When Henry was pulled off the raft, he must have been unconscious. I was half-convinced he was dead. There were paramedics a few yards upriver, treating what looked like a sprained ankle. They sprinted over and loaded Henry onto a stretcher and then drove him away. They hadn't done any CPR and that scared me even more. But they left with their siren blasting, so I assumed that meant he was still alive."

"Why no CPR?" Neal asked.

"From what Dad told me, he had cracked some ribs, and they didn't want to puncture his lungs." She paused as Jake pulled up and Neal stowed his luggage in the trunk. When Neal was in the car she continued, "I told my friends I wanted to go home, and they didn't argue. We were all shaken. It wasn't until I was nearly at my parents' house that I noticed I was still holding this stranger's wallet. I found his driver's license, learned his name wasn't Shawn, but that it really was his birthday. Looking at the date, it hit me. It was the anniversary of my brother's death, my brother named Shawn. I was nearly hysterical by the time I got home. There I was, crying about this stranger, and my brother, and bungee jumping. Dad finally pieced enough together to take the wallet and call local hospitals looking for a John Doe. When he got the answer he was looking for, he told me everything was all right. He left for the hospital. The next several evenings he spent at the hospital. He probably was there first thing in the morning and over his lunch hours, too. And then suddenly this Henry was living at my aunt Miranda's place. He was a lot quieter than I'd remembered. Very serious and determined. And embarrassed at my grandmother's insistence that he was my brother, finally returned to us. Dad said we weren't supposed to mention Henry outside the family, and to be wary of anyone who asked about him. There were a couple of rounds of reporters, but after that it was quiet. Henry stuck around four months, I'd guess, and then suddenly he was gone. And a few months later he was back with you, the little brother who seemed as quiet and mysterious as Henry did."

Neal grinned. "I don't think Miranda would have called either of us quiet or mysterious."

Shannon met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and she wasn't smiling. "She was upset when the two of you left with no warning. Don't do that again."

Before Neal could protest, his phone beeped. It was noon in New York. Time to check in with Tricia.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tricia and Jones had taken over one of the smaller conference rooms, posting a timeline for Robert Winslow's disappearance, and thoughts for tracking him down. One wall was dedicated to information about Henry. Peter thought Neal would find that reassuring when he got back to the office. They'd ordered in lunch, making the most of their time before Tricia left on vacation. Peter had arrived ten minutes ago, impatiently waiting for Neal's check in. It took extreme self-restraint not to pounce on Tricia's phone when it rang. She wisely placed it on speaker. "Peter and Jones are with me," she warned. "How are things in Austin?"

"Hot. Must be almost 90 degrees, and it seems even hotter when Shannon starts flirting."

Peter could hear laughter and shouts of denial in the background.

"Everything's great. Shannon's expecting, and they're going to name the baby after me. They just don't know it yet."

And in the background they heard, "God, no! I'm having a sweet little girl" followed by "But I wanted to have a boy and name him Calvin" followed by "We are not naming our child after the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. That kid was a menace."

"We just left the airport," Neal continued. "Fortunately it's not far to Lawson's office. I don't know how much of this pre-wedded bliss I can take."

"It's not too late to take you wedding cake shopping," someone warned. "So much icing you think your tongue's going to go into sugar shock and fall off."

"Don't antagonize her," Peter warned. "I've been there. Buttercream icing overload is not for the faint of heart."

"I'll be careful," Neal promised.

They wrapped up the call, reminding Neal to call back in six hours. Peter shook his head. "I wish I could believe he'll be careful. But _Neal _and _caution _seem to be antonyms." He looked at Jones and Tricia. "I suppose I sound crazy after that call, right? It doesn't sound like he could be much safer."

Jones shook his head. "I've never figured out if he's good at taking care of himself, or just lucky. Did I tell you about the time I asked George to follow Neal?"

Peter had heard the story, but Tricia hadn't. "Your navy buddy? No, what happened?"

"It was right after Neal had a meeting with Kate. I could see she'd gotten to him, even though he said he was fine. I was concerned about Neal being Neal, you know, reckless and impulsive. It was tempting to follow him myself, but Tuesday Tails had taught me that he'd spot me in an instant. So I sent someone he wouldn't recognize."

"How long did it take him to spot the tail?" Tricia asked.

"Not long," Jones admitted. "But he didn't lose him, because he was curious about who George was and what he wanted."

"Where did Neal go that night?"

"Lower East Side bar," Jones said. "A place with loud music, where he could let off some steam. They had some kind of amateur night. George said Neal was a decent singer."

"Yeah, he is," Peter said, remembering the Christmas concert in St. Louis. "I wish we could send George after him on this trip. I'd feel a lot better if someone I knew was keeping an eye on Neal."

"Well, actually," Jones said, "there is another way to keep an eye on him."

Peter nodded at the reminder. When Neal had first started working at the FBI, Peter had worried about how he would adjust, and had assigned Jones to befriend and track Neal. Hughes had introduced them to the cell phone records the NSA was starting to collect. They used Neal's records as a test to see if the data would be useful for tracking criminals. They'd stopped several months ago, but the dangers posed by Robert might justify starting again.

"Let's hold that in our back pocket for now," Peter said. "I think he already feels like his privacy is being invaded. I don't want to push it too far."

"He wouldn't know," Jones said.

"I would. I want to face him with a clean conscience." Changing the subject he asked, "What can you tell me about Shawn Hunter, and about Neal's arrest in Las Vegas?"

"Not much on Hunter," Jones said. "That ID was used primarily in the late 90s, usually in pharmacies or medical clinics. It looks like they used the ID and hit Lawson Hunter's insurance as dependents whenever Neal or Henry got sick or injured. Nothing major."

"But Las Vegas is another matter," Tricia said. "You'll never guess who flew into town to bail Neal out."

"Lawson Hunter?" Peter asked. It made sense to ask an attorney for help when you were in trouble with the law.

"No. Robert Winslow."

Peter took a deep breath. Was Neal's trip to Vegas intended to goad Robert in some way? "Jones, go ahead and start the paperwork for accessing the NSA data again. Tricia, give me the details about this arrest and how Robert fits into the picture."

_A/N: YouTube didn't launch until 2005, but of course Mozzie would be aware of it in advance. Mozz also provides a teaser for The Woman in Blue; if you've read Silbrith's description of the story, you know a haunted house is an element you can expect in her upcoming chapters. My next chapter delves into more memories, showing us Neal as a 15-year-old and even briefly as a 3-year-old. _


	8. Chapter 8 - Backstory

**Austin, TX. Friday afternoon. June 25, 2004.**

At lunch with Shannon Hunter, her fiancé Jake, and her father Lawson, Neal enjoyed the bustling Tex-Mex restaurant and the light-hearted stories. It had been a pleasant surprise to learn that Shannon remembered this was Neal's favorite restaurant in Austin, and the food was as great as he had remembered. But always in the back of his mind was the reason for his visit, which he broached after the waitress took their orders for sopapillas and fried ice cream.

He took an indirect route, addressing Jake. "I hope you haven't been bored by all our stories about Henry. Have you ever met him?"

"Not yet, but Shannon's hoping he'll come to the wedding. People talk like he's one of the family, and the stories are fascinating, but –"

"Please, Jake," Shannon interrupted.

"I'm just sayin' it's weird that someone who's supposed to be like family doesn't respond to the wedding invitation. Would it kill him to pick up the phone and call you?"

"You haven't heard from him recently?" Neal asked.

"Not a peep," said Shannon.

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" Lawson asked. He always was the most perceptive one in the Hunter family.

"Yeah," said Neal, "he is. I was kind of hoping you could give me a lead on where he's gone. Honestly, I've got mixed feelings. It would be a huge relief if you could tell me you've heard from him in the last month. But on the other hand, if he's in danger the last thing I want is for the expectant mom here to get involved." He watched Jake's reaction, and saw what he expected. Jake was determined to keep Shannon out of harm's way, and that made him amenable to Neal's suggestion. "Will you let me know if you hear from him?"

"Absolutely," said Jake.

"Do you really think he's in danger?" Shannon asked.

Neal nodded. "Someone blew up his car a few months ago."

Shannon gasped. "Do you know who did it?"

"His dad." Neal paused as Shannon took that in. "We always talked about Robert as merely being a jerk. Annoying, but wanting the best for Henry. Well, we were wrong. Henry was just a means to an end for Robert, and when Henry got in his way instead, we saw his true colors. He's tried to kill both of us this year, went into hiding when we figured out he was the one behind the attempts, and now Henry's disappeared, too. He's got a plan to lure Robert after him."

"You're sure of that?" Lawson asked.

"Positive. He's completely dropped out of contact with family to keep us safe. No calls, no texts, no emails. We get occasional postcards to let us know he's still alive, but he's staying away to protect us. The thing is, he can't carry this off alone. He needs someone to track the results of his plan and keep him informed. Preferably someone Robert isn't aware of, and therefore wouldn't be watching."

"That's why Henry didn't turn to you for help," Shannon said.

"Right, but I need to get in contact with him. He's not thinking straight about this. He's still thinking of me as a little brother, but I'm in the best position to handle things. I've got a plan that will work better than what he has in mind. Besides that, I have resources now, and I'm well protected." Neal pulled out his FBI consultant's badge. "I can help him, if I can find him."

"Impressive," said Shannon. "I wish I could do something."

"Shannon," said her fiancé in concerned tones.

"I get it," she assured him. "I don't want to get in the middle of this but I promise you, Neal, I'll tell you right away if I hear from Henry."

Neal wasn't surprised at the end of the meal when Lawson insisted that Neal come to his office. The attorney was the type to hold information close, especially if that information might distress his family. If Henry had been in touch, he wouldn't admit it in front of Shannon.

Lawson kept the conversation on trivial matters like the weather while he navigated downtown Austin traffic, allowing Neal's mind to wander. He had visited the Hunters occasionally, always with Henry, and considered them casual friends. Henry, on the other hand, had an intense trust in Lawson. Until recently, Neal had been mystified by the relationship, but he thought he understood now. Lawson was Henry's Peter. He was the father figure who outshone his real father, for whom he tried to be his best self. If Shawn Legend was Henry's bad boy persona, then Shawn Hunter was Henry in Boy Scout mode.

What Neal wasn't sure of, was whether Lawson was worthy of Henry's trust. And if Lawson really had been like Peter at the start, he wondered if that father figure relationship could last all of these years?

Was it a fair comparison? Peter had seen the good in Neal and tried to bring it to the surface, but hadn't tried to rename or remake him. Did Lawson care about the real Henry, or did he simply want to fit Henry into an image of what his son might have been?

When they arrived at his office, the attorney closed the door, gestured for Neal to sit down, and then said, "We need to talk."

Neal nodded. Finally he was going to get some answers.

"I know you aren't really Henry's half-brother," Lawson said. "I did some research, learned Henry was an only child, but his mother's sister had a son named Neal. From what I could tell, that kid went into WITSEC."

Neal crossed his arms and stared at Lawson. He wasn't going to say anything about that.

Lawson didn't push him. "You know, I met Robert Winslow. He came here to see me."

"When?" Neal asked. "Did he give any indication where he was staying?"

"Slow down, now. This was back in 2001. He found out about Henry's hospital stay, and how I told the staff he was my son."

"So Robert knows that Henry uses Shawn Hunter as an alias?"

"That's right. I called Henry and told him about it the next day." Lawson had been sitting in his desk chair, but now he came around and leaned against his desk.

"So I was wrong about you being off Robert's radar. He'd be checking to see if Henry contacted you."

"Right again. And a couple months ago, I got a message from Henry warning me that Robert was going on a rampage. I upgraded the security system at my house, and installed security at Jake's as an early wedding present."

"Good idea. What about Miranda?"

"She already had a state-of-the-art system. But as far as I could tell, Robert wasn't aware of her role in Henry's life. I told him I didn't know where Henry went in the months after he got out of the hospital, and I think he believed me."

Neal thought over these revelations, including what he knew about the people involved. "Robert threatened you, back in 2001."

"Thought he could get me disbarred for my role in falsifying records when Henry was in the hospital."

"Why didn't he go through with it?" Neal asked.

"I flat-out told him everything that would happen if he tried. My father was a former Texas Attorney General. One of my grandfathers was Lieutenant Governor, and the other was an infamous oil baron. Someone trying to get me disbarred would make the news, with lots of interviews where I'd explain why I'd lied and told the hospital that their John Doe was my son. I'd tell the reporters how this kid, not even drinking age, cringed when I asked if he wanted me to call his dad to let him know he was in the hospital." Lawson continued his story, making it clear that he knew some of the reasons why Henry dropped out of sight and hid from Robert for several years.

_Yeah, Robert would have backed off rather than risk that information coming to light._ Neal was impressed and relieved. Clearly Lawson was not influenced or controlled by Robert. And it was reassuring to hear that Lawson was aware of Henry's imperfections and still wanted to help him. It gave him hope that he could salvage a relationship with Peter in a form that wouldn't jeopardize the agent's position in the FBI. "Will you tell me if you hear from Henry or get a lead on his location?"

"You're not planning to arrest him?" Lawson asked.

Neal shook his head. "I'd quit the FBI first. I swear, all I want is to help him. I'm concerned he isn't thinking straight, and he's going to run head first into trouble." He handed Lawson a business card with his FBI contact information. "Please let me know if you get any information about Henry or Robert."

After Lawson promised to pass on anything he learned, Neal walked a few blocks down the street to a branch of a national bank and opened an account in the name of Neal Legend.

As Neal put away his temporary checks, new ATM card, and Neal Legend driver's license, he thought back to his first lessons in forging IDs.

**St. Louis, ten years ago**

As a 15-year-old high school sophomore, Neal had been taking art lessons from Professor Clarence Strasser for six years. But now, instead of attending weekend classes for children, Neal was actually enrolled in one of the professor's classes at the University of Missouri in St. Louis. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he left high school early to join an undergraduate class that started at 3pm.

Although a love of art was his main reason for attending, he did have an ulterior motive. He listened as the underage college freshmen talked about acquiring fake IDs, and he convinced them to show him those IDs. Then he asked the owners of the most impressive fakes where they'd gotten them. Finally he tracked down the best forger in town to get an ID that said he was 18. It wasn't for drinking – there was too much alcohol sitting around the house for the taking. As his mother's alcoholism made her less and less dependable, he wanted to be able to deal with institutions like the bank and the utilities on her behalf. But they wouldn't talk to a 15-year-old. With his new ID, he finally felt a measure of control in his life. It was so much easier to deal with this stuff himself rather than depend on nagging his mother to get it done.

He'd watched the process of making the ID, and asked intelligent questions. The forger appreciated Neal's interest and grasp of the art, and offered a discount if Neal wanted to work for him.

The thought of earning his own money was tantalizing. He'd be able to make sure the bills were paid when his mom was short on funds, and could even start to save up for a car. He accepted the offer and became an apprentice forger. In the back of his mind, he realized this was not an ideal situation for someone who wanted to become a cop. But at least he was learning how to spot a fake ID, and he told himself that once he was inside the system he'd find a way to help people who were forced into illegal choices in order to get by.

The only downside was that his aunt Ellen was going to ask how he managed to buy a car once he saved up enough money. But the fake ID brought a solution to that dilemma.

It started with an embarrassing encounter in the spring semester, shortly before his 16th birthday. He'd arrived at the art class early and was drawing Theresa. He had a crush on her, but prided himself on keeping it hidden. That day, while he was absorbed in a drawing of Theresa as she'd passed through a ray of light, the object of his affection peered over his shoulder and said, "That's good. How do you get that sense of motion?"

"I… umm…" He turned to a fresh page, eager to hide his romantic rendering of her, and started drawing a more generic human form walking. Once he had recovered the ability to speak he said, "Drawing it is the easy part. But how do you do it? I mean, you move like you're dancing."

He expected her to say she took ballet or something like that, and her answer surprised him. "Waitressing. If you can balance a tray of drinks across a crowded room where people are constantly in motion, it does wonders for your coordination." She named an upscale restaurant downtown, not far from where his mother worked. He'd heard that watching the wait staff navigate the room was considered part of the entertainment there. The room was purposefully filled with obstacles so that only the most graceful people could survive as servers. The staff had been described as having the agility of professional dancers. Or of cat burglars, given their all-black attire.

"Do you think they'd hire me?" he blurted out. It seemed like the perfect solution – a legitimate source of income to explain the money he was making from his other job, and a chance to be around Theresa. And he wouldn't mind learning how to move like that. He wasn't really into sports, other than track, but a job like this would keep him in shape, mentally and physically. That would be important when he was old enough to apply to the Police Academy.

"Maybe. You move well."

He tried not to blush at the comment that meant she'd actually paid attention to him. "Fencing lessons," he said.

"Interesting. You have to be 18, though."

And he had an ID proclaiming that was his age. She knew he was in high school, but not what grade he was in. "My birthday's right around the corner," he said, implying he was about to turn the magic age.

"I'm there Wednesday and Friday nights," she said. "If you show up during my shift sometime, I'll introduce you to the manager."

He'd taken her up on it, and talked the boss into hiring him. He'd never gotten up the nerve to ask Theresa out or to admit to his crush, but working at the restaurant had been a great experience. He did learn to move like a cat burglar, he earned more than he'd expected in tips, and he'd received an education about wine. Although it wasn't until he went to Europe that he'd gained his current level of expertise on that topic.

**Austin, present day**

After he left the bank, Neal caught a taxi to take him to Miranda's studio. This was a change from the late 90s, when she'd used her garage to record demos of the songs she wrote. She'd had a lot of success these last few years. Now she had a studio downtown, and recorded demos for other songwriters, too. And some of the singers who picked up her songs liked the sound of her demos so much that they came to her studio to replicate what they'd heard.

Miranda Hunter Garza, Lawson's sister, was a savvy businesswoman on top of her musical talents. She was smart, stubborn and compassionate – exactly what Henry and Neal had needed in their younger days to keep them on their toes. Her daughter, Yvette, was about a year younger than Neal, and had suffered from bronchitis and other respiratory ailments as a child. When Miranda had wanted to use her talents to give back to the community, that effort revolved around music therapy. She specialized in helping patients who needed to strengthen their lungs.

Neal recalled the story as Henry originally told it. Henry had been pushing to be released from the hospital, even though Lawson had concerns that he was moving too fast for someone with cracked ribs and who had been fighting off pneumonia after drowning. Lawson introduced Miranda as a therapist who would evaluate Henry's recovery. She took him on a trip away from the hospital to the University of Texas campus. She gave him a backpack of text books, and said if he could walk the route for his Monday class schedule, she'd tell the hospital that he was well enough to be released.

Henry had been shocked and distressed at how weak he was, realizing he couldn't keep up his usual level of activity. As they rested on the campus grounds before returning to the hospital, Miranda recommended that he go to school part time while his ribs healed, and also that he have physical therapy to regain normal lung capacity. She'd just about talked him into it, when a former roommate saw them and jogged over to say hello. He mentioned that someone had dropped by their old apartment looking for Henry, and described the guy. Henry tried to keep it together, but on the drive back to the hospital he started to panic. He was making plans to leave the hospital and get out of Austin, and Miranda realized something was wrong. She gathered he was about to bolt, even if she couldn't figure out why, and she made him a deal. He could work part time at her studio for the next semester in return for room, board and therapy. There would be no money involved, no rent, no utilities in his name as he would live in the apartment over the garage she'd converted into a recording studio. He'd withdraw from college for a semester and drop out of sight, hidden from whatever had him in such a panic.

He'd taken her up on the offer, and in the spring when he felt responsible for a cousin who was also slowly recovering from pneumonia, he'd brought Neal to Austin hoping to get him the same deal.

Now, entering Miranda's new studio, Neal looked around until he found her office. Before he could say anything, she noticed him and jumped up to hug him tightly. "I thought you were dead!" she accused, as she released him. "You let me believe those rumors for nearly two years before you called me last December."

He apologized again for assuming she'd known Shawn Legend had been lying about Neal Legend's death. And for the first time he admitted the fears he couldn't share with Noelle. "I'm not the one you have to worry about. Henry's disappeared. His father is out for blood and I'm pretty sure Henry's plan is to keep us all safe by sacrificing himself." He ran his hands through his hair. "Have you heard anything from him, Miranda? Anything at all? I'm going crazy worrying about him."

It had been months since Miranda had heard from his cousin. They sat down in her office and brainstormed places Henry might go, ways he might stay hidden. Miranda was the only person outside of Urban Legend – other than Mozzie, now – who knew who the members were. Neal explained his theory that Henry would hide in his Shawn Legend identity, bringing down Masterson and at the same time leaving clues to tantalize and infuriate Robert. And Miranda was willing to help get ahead of Henry, starting with providing copies of recordings she'd made of Henry, Neal and Angela singing in her studio.

As they searched her archives for the songs Neal wanted, they talked about their first meeting seven years ago. "You were so skittish when Henry brought you to me," she remembered. "That first day, when I tried to evaluate the health of your lungs, I had you hold a note as long as you could. I put my hand on your chest, intending to tell you to work your diaphragm, and you nearly jumped through the roof."

Neal nodded absently as he sought out a specific song he remembered. "Because the torso was Vance's favorite place to hit me when I was a kid. I wasn't a fan of any strangers touching me, especially there."

Miranda drew a sharp breath. "What's changed, Neal? It used to be when I so much as hinted that you were abused, you changed the subject in the blink of an eye."

And Neal blinked involuntarily in surprise. He'd always been uncomfortable when Miranda suggested that his reactions to being touched were indicative of being abused and he would change the subject whenever she suggested he should talk to someone about it. But now the topic didn't stress him as much. "I've been talking to a therapist."

"It's made a world of difference," Miranda said.

And to think Neal had been trying to find an excuse to end the sessions with Noelle. He'd dealt with the repressed memories, the flashbacks and nightmares. That was all he'd expected to get out of the sessions, and didn't see the point in continuing now that he'd achieved those goals. He hadn't realized that he'd gained any other benefit, but Miranda was right. Even two months ago he wouldn't have been able to talk so calmly about his experiences. "She's good," he acknowledged. He'd have to remember to thank her. He glanced at Miranda to see if she'd made any progress hunting through the old tapes, and noticed the guitar hanging on the wall. "Is that…"

She turned in the direction of his gaze. "Yes, that's Henry's favorite guitar. He loved that damned thing, and I swear it loved him, too. He made it sing like nobody else."

"I remember he showed off with it, must have been less than 24 hours after we got here." Neal could picture it as if it were yesterday. Henry was playing that guitar like a rock-and-roll god. Neal had simply stared in wide-eyed awe, and when Henry glanced over at him it felt like he'd traveled back in time. He wasn't 18, but three years old, watching in amazement as a slightly older boy pulled pots out of a kitchen cabinet, turned them upside down, and started playing them like drums. The boy had looked up at Neal and grinned, his expression a combination of pride and mischief that was quintessential Henry.

It was the first time since meeting up with Henry in Chicago that Neal recalled his cousin as a child. And it seemed like Henry's memory was triggered, too, because as he took in Neal's expression, he suddenly faltered on the guitar, and his face was filled with surprise followed by recognition.

"Wow," Neal had said, as much about the memory as about the guitar performance.

"Yeah," Henry had said. Then the moment of wonder had passed and he looked very pleased with himself. "C'mon, kiddo." He led the way, and Neal followed after him eager for the next adventure.

Neal shook his head, coming back to 2004.

"Yes, he showed off then and pretty much every day thereafter," Miranda recalled. "I put him through the same drill as you when I first brought him here. Singing lessons to exercise his lungs, office work to pay for room and board. Eventually I showed him how to run the sound equipment, and he had free rein with the instruments at night. When I learned he could play the piano I made him practice and sometimes used him for small parts in the demos, but he was made for the guitars. That's where he excelled."

Neal went back to searching for the song he wanted, and said in an offhand manner, "He told me once that you made him sing country."

"Mm-hmm. Most of my early success was in country music. Henry has a nice voice for country, but his heart wasn't in it."

Neal didn't snort, but it took an effort. "He's rock-and-roll to the core."

"Would you like to hear one of the demos I recorded with Henry taking lead vocals for a country song? He complained bitterly, but I'm the boss. He had to sing what I assigned." Miranda found the song and they laughed to hear Henry's voice in a genre he normally avoided. Then they found the other songs Neal wanted to give Mozzie to upload to the Urban Legend site.

As they were wrapping up, Neal said, "I've always wondered… When Henry first brought me here, he seemed at loose ends. Then about a week after I met you, you pulled him aside for an intense conversation. I heard him shouting a few times, but I couldn't make out the words. And then after that he seemed settled in. What did you say to him?"

Miranda studied Neal a moment, as if judging his ability to handle the story. Then she nodded and said, "I told him that you were scared. The minute you would notice he wasn't around, you'd look for him or ask me where he was. It was clear you expected him to abandon you, and you weren't comfortable with us the way in the same way he was. When he moved into that garage apartment the first time, it was like he was an extension of the family. From what I could tell he came from a big family and was used to hanging out with various aunts and uncles, used to being welcomed with open arms. I was like another aunt. On the other hand, you seemed baffled by us, and he was your one familiar, trusted element. When I talked to him that day I said he needed to do something to show you that he was committed to staying here as long as it took for you to recover, and I insisted that enrolling in UT for the summer semester was the best way to do that. He had concerns about being found by someone, but Lawson went with him to the registrar's office and spun some story about Henry's parents being famous people and the need to repel requests for information from reporters posing as family. They locked down his records in fear of a lawsuit if they inadvertently shared his schedule or even his enrollment status."

"Did he resent –" Neal started, but Miranda cut him off.

"Don't ever think that way. That big family of his, with all those Winslow cousins… I could tell he was fond of them, but it almost seemed as if they were interchangeable when he talked about them. He'd be happy to see them, but he'd be fine if he went months or years before the next time he saw them. Lawson told me a while back that Henry had lied about the two of you being half-brothers, and I believe that from a pure family tree sense of the world. But it was always clear to me that emotionally you were brothers, and that Henry wouldn't dream of abandoning you. Not because he felt obligated, but because he loved you."

And as a result of her words, Neal had a lump in his throat when his phone beeped to remind him of the time. It was 6pm in New York, time to check in with Tricia. "Can I borrow your office?" he asked. "I need to make a call."

"Be my guest," Miranda said. "Let me know when you're done, and we'll head out for dinner. Yvette's looking forward to seeing you again."

Neal wasn't surprised to find that Peter was lingering in the background when Tricia answered her phone. Reporting that Henry hadn't been in contact with the Hunters, and that Robert was aware of the Shawn Hunter alias, Neal tried to get off the phone quickly. He didn't want to mention the Garzas, keeping Miranda a secret in order to preserve the Urban Legend identities.

Peter had other plans. "When I first recruited you, you told me to ask you sometime about the first time you were arrested, in Las Vegas."

Inwardly Neal cursed his carelessness in mentioning that to Peter, as well as Peter's memory. They'd had that conversation in December. "You know most of it. Henry broke the display case around a guitar that had belonged to Jimi Hendrix. There was a warrant issued for his arrest, and he skipped town with my ID. I thought it was just a game, until I was arrested when I used the ID he'd left behind. The Las Vegas Metro police didn't buy the fact that I was a victim of identity theft, not at first. They tossed me in a holding cell overnight. The next day they let me go."

"After Robert Winslow bailed you out," Peter pressed. "Why didn't you tell us about that part?"

"Listen, you know I spent some time with Henry and Robert," Neal said, "and that it ended with Robert tricking me into forging the Atlantic bonds, which he used to blackmail me. What does it matter how it all started?"

"If it doesn't matter, then you shouldn't have an objection to telling us the details," Peter countered.

"Fine," said Neal. "It was all a setup. After several years apart, Henry softened on his stance toward Robert. He convinced himself that Robert was gruff and annoying, but that under it all he really wanted the best for Henry. He thought he could kill two birds with one stone: getting a father for me, and starting over on a fresh foot in his own relationship with his dad. So he purposely got in trouble, knowing I'd be arrested when I started flashing his ID around. The arrest of Henry Winslow popped on the Winston-Winslow watch lists, and Robert immediately came out to bring his son to heel. But instead of his son, he got me. Didn't take him long to figure out who I was, and that I could lead him to Henry. Soon enough he had us both on a corporate jet headed back to Baltimore, pretending that he was happy to meet me again. The rest is my usual dismal history with father figures."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal's comment stung a little when Peter heard it. The kid should have emphasized that he was talking about his former dismal history with father figures, because it was different now, right?

But Neal remained silent on that score, and Peter was left wondering what the hell had gone wrong, and how things could have soured without his even being aware of having done anything to impact Neal's opinion. It hadn't even been a week since Father's Day. He just didn't get it.

"In retrospect, it's safe to say Robert was angry with both of you for tricking him into going to Vegas to bail you out, right?" Peter asked.

"_Angry _would be an understatement. When he blackmailed me he made it very clear how unworthy I was to pretend to be his son. And he had a lot to say about my pernicious influence on Henry."

Peter rolled his eyes. Henry was older than Neal and a ringleader by nature. "To recap, Robert has been irrational in his hatred of you for years, and you're going back to where it all started, taunting Robert with the memories of how you impersonated his son."

"What? No! It isn't like that. This isn't about Robert. Vegas has always been a favorite haunt of Henry's. I'm going there for the same reasons I came to Austin. I'm looking for leads into how he stayed hidden before, and who's helping him now. That's all it is, Peter."

"Then why won't you be more specific about your plans? Just tell us who you're going to talk to."

"No."

Peter couldn't believe his ears. "The FBI isn't paying for you to hang out at casinos, Neal. We need some idea of what you're planning."

"The FBI isn't paying for any of this, remember? I'm traveling on my dime. I'll be there on a Sunday, so it isn't even a work day." There was a pause, and based on Neal's tone, Peter guessed the kid was running his hands through his hair. "We're not talking about gangsters or even criminals. But Vegas attracts eccentrics, people who live on the edges and prefer to go by pseudonyms. They'll scatter like mice if they get a hint of the Bureau, so I don't want the local agents hanging around when I'm trying to gather information. Can't you trust me, just this once?"

Peter was about to retort that he'd shown a lot of trust in Neal over the last six months, but Tricia intervened. "How about we compromise on this, Neal? We won't insist on a detailed itinerary for your stay in Las Vegas, and in return you check in more frequently. Every two hours."

"Are you kidding me? When will I have time to track down Henry's old contacts if I'm always on the phone with you? Make it four hours."

"Three," said Tricia. "That's my final offer. Check in every three hours, or I'll fly out to Vegas and go to every meet with you."

"Great," said Neal, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Every three hours when I'm in Vegas. Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to the Hunters."

With that the call ended, and Peter looked at Tricia. He was pretty sure she saw how bewildered he felt. "What's going on here? Last week I was congratulating myself on how Neal was becoming a team player, and now it seems like he resents having to work with us."

Tricia shook her head. "Maybe it's a manifestation of his fear about Henry? Let's not jump to conclusions. Tomorrow he'll be with his family, going to a birthday party. That should be a chance for him to relax and unwind. If he still seems out of sorts when he calls from Seattle, I'll let you know."

_A/N: I'm not a medical expert, but I have read articles that say singing can improve lung capacity._

_On Monday we'll hit the one-year anniversary of the amazing Silbrith volunteering to proofread my chapters. Very soon after that she graduated to beta reader, and eventually admitted she was writing missing scenes for this AU. After I convinced her to send me a scene, I began a campaign to wear down her resistance to publishing her own stories. I'll pause now to accept the applause of everyone who has been enjoying The Woman in Blue… Seriously, though, I couldn't have a better co-conspirator and want to thank her for the help, hand-holding and inspiration she has provided over the last year._

_Tricia thinks Neal's trip to Seattle for Angela's birthday will be calm and relaxing. Little does she know…_


	9. Chapter 9 - Substitutes

**Austin, TX. Friday evening. June 25, 2004.**

Although Neal had enjoyed catching up with songwriter Miranda Garza at her studio, dinner at her home was less fun. First, she had separated from her husband since Neal had last visited, and Ernesto's boisterous presence was missed. It didn't seem appropriate to ask the cause of the separation, but simply ignoring the change in the household was awkward, too. Even more awkward was talking to Miranda's daughter after the meal. Neal dreaded the conversation, but he had to make sure his cousin hadn't been in contact with this last member of the Hunter family.

Yvette offered to do the dishes, and Neal volunteered to help. He did the washing while she rinsed and put things away.

"Have you –" he started after the sink was filled with soapy water.

"How's –" she said at the same time.

"Go ahead," Neal insisted.

She cleared her throat. "I just… I want you to know that I've done a lot of growing up since the last time you were here. When we first met I wasn't exactly subtle about the crush I had on Henry. And I made a pest of myself each time the two of you returned."

Neal nodded. That's what made this so tricky. It would be easy for Henry to manipulate Yvette into helping him. And if that had happened, it would be disappointing. Neal wanted to believe his cousin was better than that.

"And then the last time you were here, I threw myself at you." Yvette kept her attention on the dishes she dried, careful not to look at Neal.

"Because people kept saying how much Henry and I were alike, you convinced yourself I was the next best option."

She finally looked at Neal. "I'm so sorry. You deserved better than to be treated like a second choice. And then after that you avoided us."

As much as Neal had wanted to skip this conversation, it was a relief to admit, "I'm as guilty as you were. Henry can be overpowering sometimes." Especially when he was in his role of Shawn Legend. Yvette might not know the name, but she had certainly encountered the persona much of the time she interacted with his cousin. "He's always going to be older than me, always assumes he's smarter and should be in charge. Sometimes I'd get jealous. I'd want to be the one in charge."

"You wanted to be Henry as much as I wanted you to be him?"

"On that last visit, yeah, I think we were both engaging in some fantasy." He was stretching the truth there to smooth over her feelings. Neal had been very flattered when she'd made him the focus of her attention, picking him over the charismatic Shawn Legend. But when it was over she'd been embarrassed and they'd barely spoken to each other ever since.

Neal thought about Kate, who had been obsessed with Vincent Adler. Another case of being someone's second choice. He'd avoided thoughts of Kate for a while now, partly because such thoughts were painful, and partly because he'd been busy with his Columbia entrance exams and his concerns for Henry. To his surprise, the memories weren't as painful now. Maybe he was finally ready to let go. "Don't blame yourself for my not returning. There was a lot of turmoil in my life that started a few months later, and I needed to get away, to make a fresh start." That's when he'd left for Europe, but he didn't want to make the conversation about him. "What did you mean about growing up?"

"I changed my major." Her grimace reminded Neal that she'd been studying psychology, to have more in common with Henry. "And now I've finished my first year of law school. This summer I'm doing an internship at Uncle Lawson's firm." She described her studies and ambitions, and she really did sound more mature, more her own person than when she'd been obsessed with Henry. "When I graduate I'd like to move to New York." And suddenly she bit her lip and stopped talking.

"What?" Neal asked. "It's a great city."

"I know, but… I don't want you to think I'm moving there to follow you."

Neal dried his hands and leaned against the kitchen cabinet to study her. "You're completely over Henry, and Henry substitutes?"

"Absolutely. I haven't thought about Henry in months. Law school doesn't leave time for silly crushes, believe me."

"No internet searches on him?" Neal asked, not to embarrass her, but in case her online activity had caught the attention of Win-Win and Robert before he disappeared.

She blushed but said, "Not in a couple of years."

"And if he called, what would you do?"

Yvette looked confused. "Why would he call me? I can't imagine I ever cross his mind."

"He's had some trouble recently, and now he's avoiding his family. He might reach out to friends we don't normally associate with him, if he needs help staying out of sight." Neal reached into his pocket for a business card and handed it to her. "If you're serious about being grown up, then let's get off on the right foot as adults. Henry doesn't want to pull me into his troubles, but I'm in the best position to help him. Will you call me if you hear from him?"

"You work for the FBI?"

"That's right. I grew up, too. I have the resources and information Henry needs, if he'll just talk to me. Are you with me on this?"

Yvette nodded. "I promise I'll call if I hear anything." She reached out, paused, and then continued forward to put a hand on Neal's arm. "If you think of any way a law student can help, let me know. I'd like to prove to both of you that I'm really capable of being an adult friend now and not, you know, a wannabe girlfriend."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Once the dishes where done, Neal spent a little more time talking to Miranda. He got her take on Stan Masterson and how to prove the man was taking advantage of musical artists. Then he asked if she knew of gigs for either Neal Legend or for Urban Legend.

She promised to reach out to her friends in the industry and send some work his way. He was about to head up to the old garage apartment when she said, "Neal, I agree that Stan Masterson is scum, but he's smart scum. Be careful."

Neal shrugged. "Urban Legend never intended to go pro. We've got nothing to lose."

"I think you should talk to Angela about that."

The apartment over the old studio had a couple of daybeds that doubled as sofas, a dining table and chairs, and a small bathroom. A TV sat on a wide bureau with plenty of drawers for two people, but the closet was tiny. There was a dorm-sized refrigerator and microwave – no need for a real kitchen since they shared meals with Miranda's family when they stayed here. The space was cramped and didn't have the million-dollar views of his loft in New York, but there was still a comforting sense of home in the pine floors, the deeply colored walls and the wrought iron accents. On one of the walls he'd painted a trompe l'oeil window that looked out onto the Austin city skyline. He'd added that feature when he was 20, and on his next visit had painted a faux skylight on the ceiling that gave the room a view of the stars in the style of Van Gogh.

He checked a bottom drawer of the distressed wood bureau and found his old paint supplies. This time he went to an empty wall to give it a view of New York City as it looked from his apartment in June's mansion. He was cleaning his brushes when his phone beeped with the reminder that it was midnight in New York. Time to check in with Tricia.

"How did it go today?" Tricia asked him.

"No leads on Henry. Other than learning Robert knows about the Shawn Hunter alias, all I accomplished was ruling people out."

"That's still progress," Tricia said. "And tomorrow you'll determine if any of your family have heard from him. Are you sure he won't show for the party?"

"He wouldn't want to endanger us. If he showed up, there's too much of a chance Robert would crash the party." But that didn't mean Henry wouldn't be in Seattle, staying a safe distance away but close enough to catch a glimpse of the party. The trick would be finding him, in order to confront him about his plans.

"You sound calmer than you did the last time you called," Tricia commented.

"I've been painting. That usually helps, if I can find an inspiration to pour my emotions into. Talking to the Hunters was good, but it stirred up some memories about Henry. It was really getting to me."

"Now you see why there's a policy about keeping family members out of investigations."

"I guess. So, umm, thanks for letting me look into Henry's case."

"You're welcome. But instead of thanking me, how about apologizing to Peter?"

"For what?"

"For snapping at him, for saying he doesn't trust you, for generally coming across as a teenager with a grudge instead of a friend and colleague."

"Damn it." Neal stopped cleaning his painting supplies to pace the apartment. He wanted to argue, but thinking back over that conversation he had to agree she had a point. In his attempt to avoid sounding like family, he'd simply come across as a rebellious son instead of an obedient one. And he'd done it in front of Tricia, who had been on his side despite Hughes' concerns of jealousy from the agents on the team. "I didn't mean that. He wouldn't have agreed to let me work this case if he didn't trust me."

"Right." She paused before adding, "It isn't like you to snap at Peter, and I can't help worrying about whatever is driving you to react that way. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Neal barely stopped himself from denying anything was wrong. Tricia had the power to recall him back to New York if she thought he couldn't handle this case, and an obvious lie would be cause for concern. "Some of the stories I'm uncovering about Henry, about his mindset when he first decided to disappear when he was 20, which ties into his mindset when he found me and decided I needed protection… It isn't easy to hear. These people loved him, trusted him, kept him hidden and safe, and he still panicked and ran away from them. And I thought of the two of us, he was the stable one."

"We all have our breaking points," Tricia said. "You've never said why Henry disappeared all those years ago. We were so focused on the _how_, I didn't even ask. Do you know?"

"Parts of it," Neal said, hoping to lead her away from information he'd promised long ago that he wouldn't share. "Listen, how mad is Peter?"

"He isn't mad at you, Neal. He's hurt."

"Will you tell him I'm sorry?"

"No, but you can. Peter's much more of a morning person than I am, and Saturday morning I'll be trying to wrangle my family into a minivan for a road trip to Maine. Your 6am check in will be with Peter. That gives you plenty of time to decide what you want to say to him."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Mmph." Neal rolled over when his phone beeped at him. His 6am check in was 5am in Texas, and he'd set the alarm to give him 15 minutes to wake himself up before talking to Peter. He couldn't believe he was resorting to instant coffee, but caffeine was imperative. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and stretched, all the while trying to convince himself that this time he'd set the right tone with Peter.

He poured a cup of coffee and then called. "Remind me why I agreed to check in at this ungodly hour," Neal said when Peter answered. "There has to be…" He paused for a sip of coffee. "Oh. God." He dropped his phone on the table and ran to the miniscule kitchen sink to spit out the coffee. He dumped the contents of the mug, rinsed it, and filled it with water to wash away the taste.

When Neal picked up the phone again he heard Peter saying, "Neal? Neal! What's going on?"

"That was even worse than Bureau brew. Does instant coffee have an expiration date?" Desperate for something else to drink, he opened the tiny fridge and pulled out a can of cola. "I thought I didn't like coffee as a teenager, but I was clearly trying the dregs when Henry brought me here. Hold on." He popped open the soft drink and chugged half of it. Then he sat down. "Have we considered that Robert is actually a decent guy driven to desperate acts by truly terrible coffee?"

"I'll run that by the criminal profilers," Peter said. "What's your plan for today?"

"Finding decent coffee moved to the top of my list. Then I'm flying to Seattle, catching up with family and celebrating Angela's birthday. She's one of my candidates for who's helping Henry stay hidden, so I'll find time to chat with her."

"Are you talking to Noelle?"

Neal drank more of the soft drink and put his feet up on a table that functioned as coffee table, work space or nightstand, depending on the need. "Yeah, but she's as motivated as me to bring Henry back home. She'll tell me if she's learned anything about his plans or location."

"No, I mean _talk_. You know, a session. Therapy."

Right, it was Saturday. "That's the plan." There was a moment of awkward silence and then Neal said, "Tricia said I came off as, um, immature yesterday."

"I would have said _stressed_. And it has me concerned. I'm trusting you to act as an employee of the FBI on this trip, and not to get fed up with us and run. We can't help Henry if you go rogue and leave us out of the loop."

"Do you want to help him, Peter? Or do you just want to catch Robert?"

There was a sound of a refrigerator opening. "I like Henry. I don't condone what he's doing now, and the worry he's causing his family, but I still think he's basically a good person. The faster we can catch Robert, the better the chance that Henry comes out of this unscathed, and without a criminal record or doing anything he's going to regret for the rest of his life." Now there was a sound of juice being poured into a glass. "One more way he's a lot like you. I keep telling myself I've pulled you off the path that would send you to prison, but at times like this I worry you're going to do something impulsive that can't be undone."

Neal thought about Yvette and sighed before he could stop himself. Of course Peter would hear and have questions.

"OK. That touched a chord. Should I be worried?"

Sitting in an apartment filled with memories of Henry, Neal had never felt more alone. "There's this girl," he said automatically, and then stopped. What was he thinking, letting the conversation veer into personal ground?

"What about her?" Peter asked.

"No. I'm sorry. This is a case check in. She isn't relevant to what we're supposed to discuss."

"Have you learned anything relevant to the case since your last check in?"

"No. All I did was paint and sleep."

"Then the check in is over. Now we're just talking. Friends. I'm closing the case file." There was a sound of a folder being closed and pushed across a table. "We're off the record." When Neal didn't say anything Peter added, "Would you rather talk to Noelle about it?"

"God, no," Neal said in horror. He did not talk to his aunt about his love life. But he had learned in therapy that talking through things that troubled you was healthy, even cathartic. He craved the opportunity to share his pain with someone who would understand.

"Then who?" Peter persisted. "You learned from therapy you need to talk about stuff and not keep it bottled up, right? If you can name someone else you can talk to about whatever's bothering you, I'll stop harping on this."

"Henry," said Neal. His cousin was the one person he could tell anything. There was stuff he had to keep from Noelle, even from Peter due to his position in the FBI. But he didn't have to keep secrets from Henry, and he hadn't realized how much he missed having his best friend available to confide in.

"But you can't talk to him. He's been out of touch for weeks."

"Yeah," Neal said, surprised at the effort it took to keep the stress out of his voice. Henry's disappearance really was getting to him.

"I'm not Henry, and I can't pretend to be, but I'm here for you. Can you tell me at least part of what's troubling you? What's the deal with this girl you mentioned?"

Would it hurt to talk to Peter about Yvette? The need to keep him at arm's length had added tension to every recent conversation, but Hughes had specifically said not to be overly familiar with Peter at work. With no witnesses from the Bureau, he wouldn't be endangering Peter's position by talking about a very personal pain. "She was the last person on my list to talk to here, and the last person I wanted to talk to. If I weren't so worried about Henry, I'd have skipped that conversation."

"I've been there," Peter said, surprising Neal.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Before I met El, I dated another agent. It seemed practical at the time. You know, someone who understands the demands of the job. But after we split, I was going out of my way to avoid tasks or cases that required working with her."

Amazing. Maybe Peter really would get it. "This girl always had a crush on Henry. But she was too young when they first met, and even as she got older she wasn't his type. Then the last time I was here she gave up on him and chased me instead."

"It didn't go well?"

"I convinced myself she really could want me more than she wanted him. I was flattered into closing my eyes to the warning signs. When I realized she was still hung up on Henry, it was like being in one of those cartoons where the character is flattened by an anvil. Letting her catch me when she chased me definitely falls in the category of things that can't be undone, no matter how much I wish I could change things."

"Listen, Neal, there are plenty of girls out there who are going to prefer you to Henry."

"Yeah, but this is the one I needed to talk to. And our history made it weird yesterday when I had to ask if she'd heard from Henry."

"You said you were flattered by her interest. So tell me, did this anvil flatten your ego or your heart?"

Neal relaxed into the daybed as Peter responded. It was such a relief to be able to confide in his father figure again. "You're surprisingly perceptive about this."

"Baseball players, even in the minors, deal with groupies. You learn they're more interested in your role than in you as a person. Figuring that out is a blow to the ego, but if you're paying attention it becomes obvious before things get serious."

It was a good analogy. Henry, in his Shawn Legend identity, did attract groupies. And he'd learned to be flattered but not to take it too seriously. "Henry had that figured out. He has a lot of charisma, and he has experience with the effects. With… With this girl he realized she adored a persona, and not a person."

"Smart," said Peter. "That shows a lot of maturity, actually."

"For the most part, it was good. Him being smart, I mean. I learned a lot from him. But every once in a while I resented being in his shadow. I'm grateful for everything he did for me, but he always assumes he should be in charge and stopping him when he's made up his mind is about as easy as stopping a train going full speed."

Peter chuckled. "That's something he has in common with my brother. The ten-year age difference convinced Joe he was my superior in all things. By the time he went to college, he seemed more like an uncle than a brother. It's only since I finished college that we've interacted like equals. I remember a talk we had when he filed for divorce. As bad as I felt for him, I was happy that he recognized he could turn to me for support." There was a pause, and it sounded like Peter was drinking the juice he had poured. "When you were a teen, do you think Henry felt like he needed to be a dad for you?"

"No, he was in Peter Pan mode then. Parents were unnecessary and he wasn't going to grow up enough to act like one himself. But towards the end he saw that I was craving a father and thought Robert would be the answer."

"Yeah, you mentioned that yesterday. I still don't get it. How did he go from hiding from Robert to thinking his dad was what you needed?"

Neal looked up at the faux skylight as he remembered Henry's explanation after he'd thrown Robert and Neal together in Las Vegas. "Robert had a vision for what he wanted his son to be, and he came down hard when Henry deviated from what he expected. In the end Henry escaped rather than cave in, but on some level he missed having a dad. He thought that I came closer to Robert's ideal, and hoped Robert would see that and would praise Henry for bringing him the son he really wanted."

"Another instance of you being a substitute for Henry, but this time you were the superior model."

"That was the theory. But Robert had too many prejudices for Henry's plan to work. I'd been condemned as a criminal from the time I was a child, because Robert was a big believer in _like father like son_. He could never see past that."

"His loss," said Peter.

Neal smiled. He'd missed Peter's campaign to convince Neal of his worth. "Sometimes I thought Robert had already found his substitute son before I came on the scene."

"Did you meet this guy?" Peter asked. Suddenly he sounded all business.

"No. I can't prove he even existed. For all I know it was my ego convincing me I failed to impress him because someone else had already taken Henry's place. What stuck with me was a comment Robert made when it was just the two of us in his office. He said, 'I wanted a Ferrari when my son was born and I got a Beetle. I don't need you to pretend you're a Ferrari. I already got what I need.' I've disliked Ferraris ever since."

"You're sure about that? He said _Ferrari_?"

Neal sat up straight, intrigued at the excitement in Peter's voice. "Yeah. What's going on?"

"You think Henry has an accomplice in order to stay hidden. I think Robert does, too. We'd come across a couple of references to Ferrari in his files, and couldn't link that name to an actual person. Do you think he had an affair, maybe has another son?"

Neal ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe. Or it could be someone he mentored and felt a connection with. Kind of like the way you…" He couldn't say it. He couldn't compare Peter to Robert. Then he noticed the time on the microwave clock. He hadn't expected his conversation with Peter to go on this long. "I need to get ready for my flight. I'll be in the air at noon Eastern, but I'll call Tricia for the 6pm check in."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Flying into SeaTac airport, the pilot told the passengers that they could see Mount Rainier out the left side windows. The massive volcano poked above the cloud layer and reminded Neal that Angela's birthday plans had changed a month ago. Originally everyone was supposed to gather in Seattle and then drive up to Paradise, about a third of the way up the volcano. The change of venue occurred around the time Henry disappeared. Coincidence? Neal didn't think so. It would have been challenging for Henry to hide out in an area with only one hotel and one restaurant, and to meet up with Angela without being noticed. Downtown Seattle provided many more opportunities for clandestine meetings.

It was early afternoon when Neal arrived at the Edgewater hotel. Built on a pier, much of the hotel was suspended over the water, giving the restaurant and many rooms an excellent view. There were even photos of the Beatles fishing from their room when they had visited 40 years ago. It was too early to check in to his room, but Noelle had met Neal in the lobby and they went up to her room to stow his luggage and to have the session Peter had asked about.

Neal remembered to thank her, saying that an acquaintance in Austin had noticed a positive difference that he attributed to the therapy. Of course that opened a can of worms, as he couldn't provide details about who this person was or why he had told Miranda he was in therapy. It was becoming more and more clear why agents talked to therapists supplied by the FBI.

Before they wrapped up, Noelle asked again why Neal hadn't told anyone outside the family – and Peter and Elizabeth who felt like family – that he'd been accepted into Columbia. They'd already discussed this last week, but apparently she'd been able to tell he was holding something back. Considering what other reasons he could mention, he tossed out, "Well, there's Robert." Taking in her look of surprise he said, "Everyone talks about how he might try to kill me or Henry, but I think he's petty enough to make my life miserable even if he can't hurt me. If word gets out that I have something big and exciting planned like going to graduate school, he could try to ruin it for me."

Noelle nodded, and looked pensive a moment before adding, "I should warn you, my parents are _very _excited that you're going to Columbia, and it may cause some tension with Angela."

"What's Angela got to do with it?"

"When she was selecting undergraduate schools, my father said he'd pay if she went to Columbia, or if she'd stay in Washington. He meant DC, of course, but she was seeking her independence and chose the University of Washington here. She got a scholarship so money wasn't an issue, but Dad was miffed. When David died late last summer, she took the next semester off. That means instead of graduating now, she'll be back for her last semester in the fall. The arguments about graduate school are in full swing now. Dad insists she should go to Columbia and get an MBA, building on the business degree she's getting here."

"Business degree? I thought she was majoring in music."

Noelle smiled. "You should have heard the yelling about that last night. She'd let her grandparents believe she was a business major with a music minor, but it was the other way around. Dad realized the truth and nearly hit the roof." She added an Irish lilt to her voice, "No grandchild of mine is going to be an itinerant drifter of a musician. I went to college and built this life to make sure we left that sad Caffrey family tradition behind, and I'll be blasted from this earth before I see my granddaughter throw away her life like that."

"Ouch," Neal said. "What does her mom say?"

"Paige says very little these days. She's been drifting ever since David died. I thought she might finally snap out of it and stand up for Angela this time, but she didn't do anything more than give Dad a half-hearted glare." Noelle stood up. "And with that warning, let's throw you in the midst of it all. It's time you met Paige, and Mom and Dad will be eager to see you again. I'm sure Angela will be happy to have Dad's attention move to you."

Paige seemed like a nice enough woman, but had a vagueness about her that made Neal think she had only one foot in this world. Her husband had died, and somehow she had turned into a ghost. Edmund was exuberant in his greeting, proclaiming his pride in the one grandchild who had seen the light and enrolled in Columbia. He wasn't thrilled that Neal's field of study was art, as a starving artist wasn't an improvement over the itinerant musician Caffreys who had emigrated from Ireland, but the fact that Neal could use his expertise in art at the FBI appeased the retired ambassador.

Unfortunately, Neal didn't know of any FBI careers for musicians, and Edmund Caffrey wasn't open to suggestions that music was a big business with plenty of opportunities beyond going on tour around the country to peddle songs. That had been the life Neal's grandfather had known as a child, an uncertain and meagre existence he was determined to steer his offspring away from.

And this was Angela's big secret. She couldn't tell her family about Grace Legend. She needed to keep that identity secret to escape into her love of music without repercussions. Miranda's comment from last night was making sense. Neal and Henry both loved music, but it wasn't their true calling. They had nothing to lose if Stan Masterson blacklisted Urban Legend and its members. Angela, on the other hand, had the talent and the passion to go pro. Would she be throwing away her only shot if Urban Legend tried to bring down Masterson and failed?

Everyone tried to be on their best behavior when they walked to Anthony's, a seafood restaurant at Pier 66. It was Angela's birthday, they had all traveled here to be with her, and both Noelle and Irene worked to keep Edmund from saying anything more to upset the birthday girl. Neal had to give his grandmother Irene credit for grace under pressure. Between her talents as an actress and the skills she'd picked up as a diplomat's wife, she kept the dinner conversation away from the recent argument and even got Angela to laugh. The meal was actually more fun than Neal had expected.

Watching his family members interact, Neal understood the concerns Noelle had mentioned last week about Angela. She seemed more stressed than he would have expected. Sure Edmund's comments were annoying, but the stories Henry had told about their cousin portrayed a smart, lighthearted girl who could wrap Edmund around her finger. While Noelle attributed Angela's tension to grief over her father's death, Neal thought Henry was a factor, too. The plans to deal with Masterson involved seriously misleading their families. And if Angela was helping Henry stay hidden, that could be stressful, too.

To get the answers he wanted, Neal offered to escort Angela back to her apartment in the University District. Edmund heartily approved of this, and Angela agreed but Neal could tell she was hoping to ditch him. As soon as the rest of the family was on their way back to the hotel and out of earshot, Neal got to work. "Professor Laszlo was impressed with your performance. She'd like to get you into Julliard."

Angela hid her pleasure, but Neal could tell it took a big effort. "Henry will be impressed. He didn't think you'd catch on to what we were doing so soon."

"You know the stuff he said after your performance about being better than you, that was all Shawn. And Shawn's just a role. He's not Henry."

"I know."

"But Angela and Grace aren't as separate, are they?"

"They have to be." She gestured in the direction their grandparents had taken. "I can't let them find out about Grace."

"Does Henry know you want to go pro?"

"I don't get to talk to Henry. It's just rush into a performance he's arranged and rush back home again. Now that the group is officially split, we're not even at the same performances."

"There's another way to deal with Masterson. A faster way. You know Henry's plan is going to take months, right? It could make Grace Legend a full-time role when you're supposed to be starting your last semester here. That's going to get attention. People will start asking questions, maybe figure out what you're doing. If you can get Henry to talk to me, I can move this along much faster." Neal looked out at Elliott Bay. Angela had been sneaking glances toward the bay throughout dinner. "Which boat is he on?"

"How did you know?"

"Relocating your party from the mountains to the waterfront, the sailboats you've been watching all evening, the fact that Robert gets horribly seasick and couldn't follow you onto the water… it all adds up to Henry being here. And I know he'd want to see the family together even if he couldn't join us."

"He asked me to meet with him tonight, and then promised we were going to bring you into the plan in the morning." A busboy came by to clear their table, and Angela started leading the way toward the restaurant's entrance. "Getting through this faster sounds perfect to me. I just don't see how." She paused as they reached the lobby. Her phone was vibrating, and she read a text message, her eyes widening. She took a couple of steps backward and handed Neal the phone.

The message said Robert had been spotted outside the restaurant. "Henry has a cell phone?" Neal asked.

"He buys burners, and replaces them frequently. What are we going to do? I've been waiting nearly two weeks to talk to Henry about our next steps, but we can't lead Robert to him."

Neal handed Angela the phone the FBI had given him for this trip. "If I'm not back in three minutes, call the first number on speed dial." Then he made his way to the men's room, where he put in hazel contact lenses, tried to make his hair look spikier, and adjusted his posture to be more indolent. Then he strolled back to the lobby. "You can give that back now," he told Angela, taking the phone he'd left with her.

"You… He told me you could imitate him but I didn't imagine… You walk and sound just like him."

Neal bought one of the restaurant's T-shirts and handed Angela his suit jacket and tie. She placed them in the bag the restaurant had given him for the shirt, and then rolled her eyes at the whistles that accompanied Neal pulling off his dress shirt and pulling on the tee. It was easier to pull off the Henry impersonation when dressed casually, and the black long-sleeved tee suited his plan. "I'm going to go out there and catch a cab. Watch to see if Robert follows me." Neal pulled an FBI business card out of the suit jacket in the bag, and scrawled two phone numbers on the back. "If he follows me, call me on the first number, and let me know what he's wearing. That will make it easier for me to spot him. Assuming Robert follows me, you're safe to meet with Henry. If he doesn't follow me, or if you don't see him, call the second number. It's the local FBI, and they know Robert might cause trouble tonight. Tell them you're with me and you need an escort. They'll get you home and watch for Robert."

Angela nodded and clasped the card tightly. Before Neal had taken more than a step toward the door, she moved forward and hugged him. "I'm sorry, Neal. I didn't agree with Henry's decision to keep you out of the first part of the plan, but I went along with it, because… Because that's Henry, you know? Always in charge. He won't explain his plans, but they always seem to work out for the best so you just learn to follow him."

"Not this time," Neal said, hugging Angela back for a moment. "He's too distracted by Robert. He's missing things, not making the best decisions. I've got to go, or Robert's going to head to the hotel. We'll talk later, OK?"

"OK."

Neal took his time walking to the curb and hailing a cab. He asked the driver to take him to Pioneer Square, and to take it slow because he was a tourist and wanted to take in the sights. Barely a minute after the cab started moving, Angela called. Robert was wearing tan slacks and a light green shirt. "Thanks," Neal said. "Wait until he's out of sight, and then get out of there. I'll give you a call if I can meet up with you tonight."

It was a few days past the summer solstice, which meant 16 hours of daylight in Seattle. The sun was still up, and Neal should be able to see Robert when they left their cabs. Traffic was light, and even taking things slow they would be in the historic Pioneer Square neighborhood in a few minutes. Fortunately Urban Legend had come the Seattle area several times to perform, and Neal liked exploring cities. He knew his way around the Seattle Art Museum and many of the surrounding areas.

Neal called the Seattle FBI to let them know where he planned to lure Robert. With any luck, they could arrest him tonight.

_A/N: I've overindulged in updates on the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for this chapter, because I love Seattle. Many thanks to Silbrith for having the courage in her role as beta to push me to make this chapter stronger. She had a huge impact on the phone call between Peter and Neal._

_In the next chapter we finally meet Robert! _


	10. Chapter 10 - Brick Walls

**Chapter 10: Brick Walls**

**Seattle, WA. Saturday evening. June 26, 2004.**

Neal had been looking out the taxi window for the right place to stop, when the cell phone the FBI had given him vibrated. He looked down to see a string of text messages he didn't recognize. It looked like Angela had been texting Henry from this phone while Neal had been disguising himself as his cousin.

The newest message read: _Angela still with u?_

Neal responded: _On her way to u._

_Robert still around?_

_Following me._

_Where?_

The taxi came to a stop and Neal looked up. The crosswalks were teeming with people. "What's going on?" he asked the cab driver.

"Mariners' game just ended."

Neal closed his eyes in frustration, and for a moment wished Peter had come along on this trip. He would have known the baseball team's schedule and could have warned Neal about this complication. Normally the Pioneer Square area wasn't very busy this time of night. As people left to head home to the suburbs or to upscale condos in other downtown neighborhoods, all that should have been left were the few people who lived in the area, straggling tourists heading back to their hotels, an assortment of panhandlers, and maybe a couple of drug dealers plying their trade. There were plenty of dark alleys between hundred-year-old buildings, plus the bus and train tunnels. He'd thought he could lead Robert on a chase without endangering anyone else.

He hadn't counted on cheering sports fans flooding the streets. Robert probably wouldn't do anything stupid like shooting into a crowd of people in order to kill him, but Neal couldn't be sure. It had been so long since anyone had contact with Robert, he could only guess at the man's mental state.

Several texts had rolled by unanswered as Neal considered his options. His phone rang, and when he answered Henry said, "I'm at the restaurant. Where are you headed?"

"Angela's safe?"

"She's on her way to her apartment. Where are you?" Henry demanded.

"Pioneer Square. I'm going to the Underground." Neal hung up as Henry started to swear. He directed the driver to take him to the location where the Seattle Underground tour started.

"Last tour was almost an hour ago," the driver protested.

"I'm just meeting someone there," Neal said. He sent one last text, this one to Tricia, letting her know he'd be late for the next check in. At nearly 9pm in Seattle, it was minutes away from midnight on the East Coast. A few blocks away from the Underground tour entrance, Neal had the driver stop. Paying in cash with a generous tip, Neal hopped out and sprinted toward the entrance. It was locked, but he had time to pick it and get inside before Robert could catch up.

In the late 1800s, a fire and frequent flooding prompted the city of Seattle to fill in the first several blocks of downtown, turning first floors of buildings into basements. The current streets were 12 feet or more above the original streets. It was still possible to walk through parts of the original downtown, now underground. The space had been abandoned, and then forgotten for decades. When Neal and Henry had taken the Seattle Underground tour back in 1999, they hadn't been able to resist returning after hours for an epic game of hide-and-seek. Neal was certain he could keep Robert chasing him long enough for the Feds to arrive. He wasn't sure if they'd be able to find him, though. Cell coverage probably wasn't great down there.

Six months of Tuesday Tails had prepared Neal for this. When he'd first joined the FBI and noticed members of the team following him over his lunch hours, he'd turned it into a game that evolved into a weekly training event as he gained their trust. From the beginning he'd easily lost the FBI agents who tried to tail him, but had realized that losing them in the first few minutes wasn't much fun. The trick was to get far enough ahead to plan out his next move, tease his pursuer with a glimpse of him, and then lose his tail over and over again.

In his black slacks and black T-shirt, fading into the shadows was easy for Neal. Robert's lighter clothing had worked for disappearing into crowds of tourists in their light-colored summer wear, but in the tunnels he stood out more than Neal.

Making people like him was such an integral part of being a con artist that encounters with Robert had always been disconcerting. Once he'd become aware of the hatred under Robert's initial pretense of acceptance, Neal had tried over and over to discover a way to improve Robert's opinion of him, but to no avail. Even more troubling was this experience of pretending to be Robert's son, and still fearing for his life. The last time he'd encountered Robert was three years ago, and then the man seemed disappointed and annoyed with Henry, but not murderous. Being passed over for the Winston-Winslow CEO role while Henry was chosen to be groomed for the job had caused Robert to show his true colors.

Maybe Neal was lucky not to remember his own dad. James couldn't hurt him the way Robert twisted Henry's heart these last few months.

About fifteen minutes into the chase, Neal hid behind the door of an old bank vault. This was the longest he'd gone without letting Robert see him, and the man's frustration was growing. "Why don't you quit hiding and face me like a man?" Robert yelled.

Neal eyed his planned escape route with dismay. The doorway that he'd used five years ago when he'd been here with Henry had collapsed, perhaps a casualty of Seattle's 2001 earthquake. He could probably make his way over the pile of bricks partially blocking the passageway, but what would he find in the next room? As quietly as he could, he slid toward the opening and tried to look through. He saw a light, which meant another clear passage used by the tour. "Get rid of the gun!" Neal responded in an impersonation of Henry. "Make it fair. Then we'll talk."

Crawling over the bricks wasn't easy. He should have worn jeans for this, not dress slacks that snagged and tore on the ragged edges of the crumbling masonry. He was almost over the bricks when the unstable pile slid under him, dumping him on the ground on the other side. The bricks continued to slide, and he covered his head but couldn't protect the rest of his body. Fortunately the bricks weren't falling far, only giving him bruises rather than breaking bones, but moving out from under them was going to be noisy and slow. Things might have turned in Robert's favor.

"Hi, Dad." Henry's voice. Not Neal impersonating him, this time. Henry was really here.

How had he found them so fast, ahead of the FBI? He couldn't have GPS tracking equipment on him. Neal really needed to find out who was helping Henry. Neal started rising up from the floor, letting the noise of the falling bricks distract Robert from Henry.

"Both of you," Robert said. "I should have known. You don't have what it takes to face your old man on your own."

Before Henry could respond, FBI agents swarmed in. Robert complied with their order to put his gun on the ground, and was surprisingly obedient as he was cuffed and led outside.

Henry scrambled toward Neal, brushing away bricks and helping him stand. "You OK?" Henry led him back toward the lighted area and Neal let himself lean on his cousin until they found a place to sit down. "You look like you were hit by a ton of bricks."

"Very funny." Neal looked at the cuts and scrapes on his legs. Nothing major, but he'd be in some pain tonight. "Listen, you've got to stop avoiding me. I can help."

"Yeah, almost getting shot by Robert was amazingly helpful."

"Maybe I can't catch him alone, but neither can you. We should work together on this. And I can move the Masterson case along faster. We need to wrap it up before Angela's supposed to be back in school."

"I saw what's happening online. That your doing?"

"With Mozzie, yeah."

An agent approached them. "We need to talk to you about what happened in here."

Henry stood. "Of course. But first he could use some medical attention."

The agent trained her flashlight over Neal and then sent a colleague to grab a first aid kit. Once someone was cleaning the cuts on Neal's legs, Henry walked off with the agent.

Distracted by the questions from the medic, Neal could hear only snatches of Henry's conversation with the agent. He heard his cousin say "Neal Caffrey" and "my cousin" and "take care of him" before the agent nodded and walked toward Neal.

"All right, Henry," she said, "let's get your statement and then we'll get you a ride back to your hotel."

"What?" Neal looked back toward where Henry had been, but his cousin had disappeared. "I'm Neal Caffrey."

"He said you were a practical joker. I understand this has been a stressful ordeal and you want to unwind, but I need you to be serious here. Mr. Caffrey showed us his consultant's badge. Please don't try to confuse things."

"I'm not. Hold on." Neal took out the hazel contacts. Then he stood, feeling the ache in his abused muscles. He pulled out his wallet. "See for yourself."

The agent saw credit cards and a New York driver's license in Neal's name. She held up the license, shining her flashlight on the picture to compare to Neal. "If you're Neal Caffrey, then who the hell was that and how did he get your badge?"

"That was my cousin Henry Winslow, and he has some experience as a pickpocket. He probably took my badge when he helped me walk over here."

"Mathison!" the agent snapped. Another agent strode over. "Where did our alleged FBI consultant go?"

Mathison looked surprised. "He said he was feeling claustrophobic, so I sent him upstairs. He's waiting out by our cars."

"Double check on that. If you see him keep him in place, even if you have to restrain him."

But Henry was long gone. He'd left Neal's badge inside one of the FBI agents' cars. The agent swore up and down that his car had been locked. Neal shrugged and said Henry had experience breaking into cars, too.

On the ride to the Seattle FBI offices with Agent Mathison, Neal wondered why Henry had disappeared. With Robert under arrest, he was safe now. The best thing he could do was give his testimony about what had happened tonight.

It wasn't until Neal got inside the Bureau that he put the pieces together. The flurry of activity in the office wasn't indicative of a team preparing to interrogate a suspect. This was more like preparing for a manhunt. Therefore he was disappointed but not surprised to hear that Robert had escaped.

"How?" he asked when the agent in charge broke the news.

"Please, sit down," Agent Yoshida said. His office remained an oasis of calm compared to the chaos of the manhunt. "From what I can tell, an imposter in an FBI jacket joined the team shortly after they arrived on the scene. He volunteered to wait outside watching the underground entrances, and he helped our agent lead Robert Winslow away when they emerged. After the agent unlocked the car, the imposter knocked him out, unlocked the prisoner's cuffs, and disappeared. Robert Winslow drove off in the agent's car, but just far enough to get lost in a crowd. He left the car with a hotel valet and disappeared."

Neal nodded. "This morning Agent Burke told me he suspected Robert has an accomplice. It sounds like he was right." That explained why Robert had been so docile when he was led away. Neal had always thought Robert would go down shooting. But Robert had known he wasn't going down. He must have gotten word to his accomplice at the same time Neal was contacting the Bureau.

"Just one accomplice?" Yoshida asked.

"I doubt there are many people he would trust," Neal said.

"His son, perhaps?"

"Henry was with me and your agents when Robert disappeared," Neal pointed out.

"Keeping my agents busy and distracted with a false story. And now he's nowhere to be found. You have to admit it looks suspicious."

Now Neal faced a dilemma, because Henry wasn't the only one who had picked someone's pocket. Neal had swapped phones with his cousin. Until Henry noticed and tossed the device, he was carrying the phone the FBI had given Neal, the one they used to track him tonight. Did he trust the FBI with the means to locate his cousin? "He's hiding from a deranged father who wants to kill him. I think he's justified in being a little paranoid."

"How did he even know where Robert would be?"

"I told him. I was texting him on my way to Pioneer Square," Neal said.

The agent shook his head. He glanced down at his notes a moment and then looked at Neal again. "You work for Peter Burke?"

"Yes, sir."

"I handled a few cases with him. When he was first starting out as a probie, I was on an assignment in DC. He was impressive, and I've heard good things since then."

"He's a good agent. A good person," Neal said, trying to keep his praise in terms that Hughes would approve.

"And Henry is family, and I'm a stranger. I get it. But remember you work for the FBI. You bought into the Bureau and what we do. We bring a lot to the table. We could help you and your family, but not if you shut us out."

It was much the same message Neal had tried to convey to Henry. He studied the agent, using all of the skills he'd gained as a con artist in reading people. Then he pulled out Henry's cell phone. "I swapped phones with him. It won't take him long to notice, but until then you can track him. He has the phone you were using to track me."

The agent stood and opened the door to his office, and yelled, "Mathison! Get that GPS tracking gear up here."

Mathison had barely plugged in the equipment when Henry's phone rang. Neal could see the calling number was the phone he'd slipped into his cousin's pocket. He picked up the phone, aware of two FBI agents listening, and said, "Henry, are you OK?"

"Peter just called this number, demanding to know if _you _were OK. Took me a minute to convince him I wasn't you. Nice job on the lift, by the way. I never noticed you taking my phone."

"Robert got away."

"Yeah. I saw him driving off as I reached ground level. I made sure the agent wasn't too badly hurt and then tried to follow."

"He left the car at a hotel."

"So we have no idea where he went. Damn it, Neal! You put yourself at risk like that, and for what?"

"We almost had him. Next time –"

"No, Neal. No next time. You need to stay out of this. I can't believe Peter let you get involved in this case."

"I'm not working Robert's case. I'm on a missing person's case, looking for you." When there wasn't a response, Neal continued, "You don't have to be alone in this. I've been giving this a lot of thought and have some ideas you need to hear. Please. I'm gonna go crazy if you keep shutting me out."

"And you'll keep taking crazy risks," Henry grumbled. "You know I'm going to ditch this phone, right?"

"Yeah, I know you'll fall off the radar again. But you know how to contact me. Postcards aren't exactly cutting it, man. I'm not the only one going nuts. Your mom is making a good show of it, but she's worried about you."

Neal could hear the lapping of waves. Henry must be near the boat he was using, or even on it. "I don't want to shut you out," Henry said. "Give me a little more time. I need to think things through, revise my plan."

"I could help with the plan. Hell, the FBI and Win-Win all want to help. You don't have to do this alone. Just come back and talk to me."

"I can't go home. I can't lead Robert back to my family and friends. Staying on the move, staying alone, that's the safest for everyone."

"Everyone but you." Another long pause. "Henry?" The line had gone dead. Neal put the phone down and looked at the agents. "He ditched the phone."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter spoke with Tricia, with agents in Seattle, and even – much to his surprise – with Henry before he finally got through to Neal. The kid was at the Seattle Bureau offices, filling the local agents in on what had happened. Peter was online, reading their updates to the case files, and getting increasingly concerned.

By the time Yoshida put Neal on the phone, Peter had a long list of questions, ranging from "What's this about you getting hurt?" to "What the hell were you thinking?" to "How did Robert get away?" to "How did Henry get your phone?"

Neal's answers were calm and brief, and at first Peter was impressed by his professionalism. But soon he was worried. Was the kid in shock or something? Why was he acting so distant? What had happened to the Neal who was confiding in him this morning?

When Yoshida took the phone back, he reiterated what Neal had said. His injuries were bumps and bruises, nothing a hot shower and a few rounds of over-the-counter pain meds couldn't handle. An agent was going to take Neal back to his hotel, where he could follow that recommended regimen and get some rest. The agent would keep watch at the hotel until the family checked out the next morning, making sure Robert didn't show up to cause trouble.

When Peter hung up, El asked him what was wrong. "I wish I knew," he told her. "Remember after he left on Father's Day, you asked if we were pushing him too fast into being like a member of the family?"

El sat beside him at the dining room table. "You said if he needed distance, you'd let him have it."

"I didn't expect anything so extreme. And then he bounces back and forth. Sometimes it seems like he resents having to work with me. Then this morning he seemed pleased to confide in me. Tonight it was like talking to a stranger."

"What happened tonight?"

"He took a foolish risk, caught up with both Robert and Henry, sustained what everyone tells me are minor injuries, and then both of our Winslow fugitives got away."

El took his hand. "He must be upset. You can't expect him to be acting normally right now. He's probably hiding under a mask of calm while he works through everything that happened tonight."

"I know. I just… My gut tells me there's more going on with him."

"What are you most afraid of?"

"When things went sour with Robert in 2001 and Neal decided to rebel, he turned to a life of crime – something Robert would have disapproved of. If he's rebelling now –"

"Rebelling against you?"

"Against me or the authority of the FBI, or both. If that's what's happening, what form is that rebellion going to take? He could get into trouble far beyond anything I can help him get out of."

"Is there anything you can do to watch out for him, to stop him before things go too far?"

"There are ways to monitor him." Peter couldn't go into the details. The NSA's data was top secret.

"I can't imagine he'll like that."

"No, he won't. But keeping him safe is more important."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was surprised to see his Aunt Paige in the lobby when he got back to the hotel. He did his best to hide his limp as he walked over to her. But based on past experience, he assumed she wouldn't notice his awkward gait, not to mention the ripped and bloodied slacks, or the fact that he'd exchanged a suit jacket and tie for a black T-shirt.

He'd used his personal phone to confirm that Angela was safely back in her University District apartment. She said she'd had only a few minutes to talk to Henry, and had learned nothing of his plans.

Now he approached Angela's mother with care. He assumed she knew nothing of what had happened with Robert tonight, and didn't want to worry her. He went for a carefree grin and asked, "Waiting up for me?"

She nodded. "I don't sleep much these days, so I volunteered."

Neal's eyes widened. He'd been kidding. He couldn't remember the last time someone had waited up for him. His mom's drinking usually put her to sleep soon after dinner, and she had remained unaware of her son's coming and going at night. "All present and accounted for," he said. "I'm here, and Angela's safe and sound in her apartment."

She nodded vaguely, and Neal was going to suggest they go up to their rooms when she said, "They told me you looked like my husband. They thought it might bother me, but it doesn't. They don't realize that I see David everywhere. It's rather comforting to have him see me back."

Neal perched on the arm of a chair across from her. "A friend of mine died a few months ago. Sometimes when I'm in a room I associate with Byron, I almost hear his voice."

"Do you remember your Uncle David?"

Neal shook his head. "I'm sorry. I was too young when we left. I don't remember either of you."

"His middle name was George, too."

Neal had used his middle name as an alias several times. He'd never paid attention to the fact that his uncle shared the name. "Was I named for him?"

"I believe it's Irene's father's name. Neal was Edmund's father. But the truth is, your parents were huge _Star Wars_ fans. I always thought they had George Lucas in mind when they named you."

She had an infectious grin, and Neal couldn't help grinning back. "Where did Grace come from?" he asked, referring to Angela's middle name.

"Did you know I was an aeronautics engineer when I met David? He was a fighter pilot, of course. Both of us were into planes and flying. It drove him crazy that I was sharp as a whip, but scattered. _Ditzy _was his word for it. When he annoyed me, I called him George. And he started calling me Gracie."

Neal had to smile at her _sharp as a whip_, which seemed to combine _smart as a whip_ and _sharp as a knife_. "George Burns and Gracie Allen? That's where you got Grace?"

Paige laughed. "You actually know who they are? Somehow it led to David and me reenacting old comedy routines at family gatherings. That's how I got over my fear of the illustrious Caffreys, by making them laugh."

"You were afraid of them?"

"Especially the twins. I was terrified of getting them mixed up. The first time I met them was a few days after your christening. David was supposed to attend, to be your godfather, but a storm delayed our flight. That whole trip, I could never keep track of which of his sisters was your mother and which one was Henry's mom. They looked and sounded exactly alike."

Neal was starting to understand what his uncle had seen in Paige. She had a different, delightful perspective that took him off guard and provided an unexpected respite from the storm of anger and fear he'd been internalizing after everything went wrong tonight. "They loved you, didn't they?"

"Yes. For all your grandfather's bluster, they are nice people. Their patience with me this last year has been astounding. They're grieving for David, too, I know. And they're coping with it much better than I am."

Thinking back to some of his conversations with Noelle he said, "People grieve differently. You can't really compare or judge how it hits them."

"All the time you spent away, and you still retained that Caffrey kindness." She stood. "We should go upstairs. I can't imagine what got your clothing in such a state, but I'm sure you want to clean up." As they waited for the elevator she asked, "Have you found Henry yet? Noelle has been so worried."

"What?" The elevator dinged and they stepped inside. "How did you know I'm looking for him?"

"Your hair," Paige said as Neal pushed the button for their floor. "You wear it like David's. I noticed that at dinner. But now it's all Henry-like. And you're walking more like him now. Why else would you impersonate him? Does Angela know? I won't mention it if it's supposed to be a secret."

"Sharp as a whip," Neal muttered. "Uncle David was right. Let's make it our secret for now. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had dreaded the 3am Pacific Time check in, but when the time came he needed to get up anyway for more pain medication, and walking around the room kept his bruised knees from stiffening up. "How are things in Maine?" he asked Tricia.

"Not as exciting as on your side of the country. Peter sent a long email with the updates."

"Then you have all the latest information. Once I finished talking to Peter, I came back to my hotel and I've been here ever since."

"Have you thought of anything else, now that you've had a chance to reflect on what happened?"

Neal looked out the window, and the lights of the ships reminded him of something he had left out of his conversation with the Seattle agents. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Henry is hiding out on boats on a regular basis. Renting them maybe, or borrowing ones that belong to his Winslow family members without their knowledge. That gets him around without the checks and security you get at airports or other modes of travel. No expense of hotel rooms. If the boats are stocked with food, he can avoid using a credit card to buy meals at restaurants or grocery stories."

"That's good. Do you think Robert is doing the same thing?"

"Robert can't stand boats. He's the only Winslow who gets seasick." Neal closed the curtains and sat on the bed. "Did they get a good description of the guy who helped Robert escape?"

"Unfortunately, no. The only person who saw his face was the agent he hit. The agent has a concussion and can't remember what happened."

"Traffic cams?" Neal suggested hopefully.

"The images are grainy. Those cameras are used to monitor cars, not people, and it was getting dark. All we've got is a Caucasian male, upper 20s to 30, with dark hair."

That wasn't much to go on. One possibility had come to mind, and Neal had to think about whether he could share that suspicion with the FBI. There were questions he couldn't answer about this suspect, not before clearing it with Henry. He'd promised on more than one occasion that he wouldn't tell anyone.

"That reminds me," Tricia was saying, "in your report you said Henry told you that Robert had been spotted outside the restaurant. But we don't have any record of a call or text to your phone before you left the restaurant."

"He texted Angela. Probably realized my phone was being monitored."

"And how did he know Robert was spotted? It seems unlikely he could have picked him out with binoculars, as far away as his boat must have been. And if he was watching the traffic cam feeds, it's a lot of videos to be monitoring and as I told you, the image quality leaves a lot to be desired."

"I have a working theory," Neal said. "Henry knew where the birthday party was planned. He couldn't join us but would have wanted to see us. What if he had someone plant a few cameras, high quality ones, at the restaurant and along the route we walked from the hotel? They could serve double duty, bringing him a view of us while also monitoring around us for Robert."

"I suppose the cameras are gone by now?"

"Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to check. Maybe someone who works at the restaurant noticed and can give a description of the person who installed them."

There was a pause and the sound of a pen on paper. Tricia was taking notes. Then she asked, "Why didn't you mention this to the Seattle Bureau last night?"

"I didn't think of it until I got back here and had a chance to unwind."

"You could have called them."

"I fell asleep, OK? By the time the pain meds kicked in and I relaxed enough to think clearly about everything, I thought I'd just close my eyes for a moment. Next thing I knew the alarm clock was reminding me about our check in."

"Your report mentioned, and I quote, 'an altercation with a pile of bricks.' Sounds painful."

"That sounds like Henry's report, the one he gave when they thought he was me. But yeah, it was painful. Not as painful as both Robert and Henry getting away, though. I'd face all the bricks in the world if I could change how things ended." He yawned.

"It wasn't your fault, Neal. You did everything you could."

"Mm-hmm." The painkillers were kicking in. Maybe he shouldn't have settled on the bed.

Tricia chuckled. "The check in times work well for me in Maine, but not so much for you on the West Coast. Are you asleep?"

"Just about."

"Get some rest, then. You deserve it. And try to stay out of trouble. Peter's worried enough as it is."

"Mm-hmm. 'Night." Neal ended the call and fell asleep, dreaming about boats and guns and bricks and father figures, both good and bad. He woke with an idea of who might be Henry's accomplice, but it was so outrageous he didn't mention it in his next check in with Tricia. This was something he'd have to research when he returned to New York.

_A/N: The Seattle Underground is real but probably not extensive enough for the chase described in this chapter. _

_For an update on the Noelle and Joe subplot, see chapter 24 of Silbrith's Woman in Blue which will be posted on Thursday. ** Barely restraining myself from spoilers. Suffice it to say I love chapter 24 of that story. **_

_In my next chapter, Neal says goodbye to Seattle and his family, and heads to Las Vegas. His adventures there will span two chapters, and then he'll go back to New York.  
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